


Until The End

by ManicRavingsofaLunatic



Series: Immortal Husbands Collection [5]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, M/M, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Whump, Panic Attacks, Team as Family, Temporary Character Death(s), graphic depictions of injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:00:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26157694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManicRavingsofaLunatic/pseuds/ManicRavingsofaLunatic
Summary: Everything has changed. Truths etched in stone are cracked and broken. Andy is unbreakable. Booker is an asshole. Joe is a pillar of strength. Nile is young and has so much to learn. And Nicky never lies.Yes, this is THE Sequel
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: Immortal Husbands Collection [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1872301
Comments: 206
Kudos: 589





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to everyone for taking the time to join me in my endeavour to torment my favourite immortal family; I do hope you enjoy this latest instalment and I thank you for your patience
> 
> Fair warning, when planning this fic, all I had was a bunch of Nicky whump oneshot ideas. I decided to run with this. (Overarching plot may happen around chapter five...)

**SINGAPORE - 2021**

Nicky was set up in a sniper nest, fifteen floors up in a half-built skyscraper with sightlines to the sleek building across the street. He was set a few feet back from the someday-a-window, flat on his stomach and rifle settled in his arms. This high up the world was quiet, nothing but the snap of plastic sheeting in the wind, city traffic a distant rumble below.

He focused on his breathing, still and silent as he tracked the team's progress through his scope and the comm chatter.

This was an intelligence gathering mission. The corporation they were infiltrating was in business with a significantly less legal one; under the table dealings preventing aid and medicinal supplies reaching refugees in a war torn country. They couldn't stop the wars, but they could help the people caught in the rubble of them, which in this case meant finding the asshole(s) that were channelling charitable aid elsewhere.

Copley had put them on to it, something simple but meaningful (less chance of a gunfight in an office, no army of mercenaries, the only security they would be fighting was a firewall) to ease the team back into things following their four month sabbatical in France. Since Quynh.

Since Nicky had been shot and believed permanently dead.

Everything had changed since that day. Booker was with them, for one. Forgiven, but his betrayal by no means forgotten, least of all by Booker himself. He kept trying to fade into the background, to stay out of their way while still trying to prove himself to them. Nile would always look at him sadly when he did that, before giving them all a pointed look like _help the poor kicked puppy_. And they were trying, but it was hard see to your own fault in a situation when you were the one kidnapped and carved up right beside the love of your life--

If anything, Joe was handling Booker better than Nicky. There were still a few moments where Joe would treat Booker with distrust, but they had become brothers again. They acted more like they had had a petty squabble than a deep betrayal.

But they had bonded, connected, come to an understanding somewhere between Nicky being shot and waking up fully (mostly) healed. In fact, the whole team seemed to have come to some consensus while Nicky was unconscious (dead).

Booker had betrayed them all, and they were all still caught in the consequences of that. Nile was a brand new immortal who hadn't truly been able to accept the weight of what that actually means. And Andy had been hit hard in quick succession - first mortality - then Quynh-- 

But instead of focusing on their myriad of issues, they had decided to turn their collective protective streak on Nicky.

He didn't think that Joe was ever going to let him leave the chateaux (let alone their bedroom). To be honest, he was surprised that Booker and Nile had also agreed that he could come with them to Singapore, even with Andy's proviso that he only provide long range support. 

It wasn't like they had never died before (but not like that, never like that - if it had been _Joe_...) and he was perfectly fine and capable (despite a few... episodes. But no one knew about that). He understood their concern, and he appreciated it, he really did. But damn did it chafe. He was a 900 year old soldier who had seen more battles than most mortals had years. He was _fine._

And the constant pain in his chest was _nothing_ to worry about.

"New players on the field," Nicky warned as an SUV and a van pulled up to the curb, aiming his rifle low to bring the swarm of ants in to focus. "Man in a suit, with an escort. Twelve men, armed."

 _"So much for no bullets on this one,_ " Booker huffed. Nicky raised the scope, focusing on the office Booker was in, sat at the desk with a bored expression on his face as he played the role of the IT guy to gain access to the CEO's computer.

 _"Let's try and keep the bloodshed to a minimum,"_ Andy requested. She was loitering just outside of the office, keeping lookout for Booker. She was dressed in a pant suit to blend in to the office environment, though it didn't help to make her appear any less intimidating if the nervous scuttle of a few interns was anything to go by.

Nicky returned the scope to the lobby, the large glass front allowing him to track the Man in Suit and his entourage to the elevators. "They're coming up. Can't see which floor."

 _"Shit,"_ Nile muttered, the curse almost lost to static. She was shadowing Jackson Chen, the company's CEO as he left his office for lunch. _"Chen's heading back, one of his aids came and whispered something at him and he looks pissed. Pretty sure its because of the new player."_

Booker cursed in French. _"I need more time."_

 _"Nile, run interference,"_ Andy ordered, ignoring Nile's huff of _yeah sure, what should I do? Throw coffee at the guy?. "Joe, make sure our exit is clear and then get up here, we're going to need back-up."_

 _"On it, Boss."_ Joe confirmed. He was in the building's underground garage securing transport, the only one of the team that Nicky couldn't watch through his scope. It set him on edge, but his voice on the comms was a reassurance.

After a few moments there came a crash over the comms and Nile stuttering a manic apology.

"Nile, did you just throw coffee at Chen?" Nicky asked bemused, watching through the scope as Nile made a scene of trying to help as Chen glared and stared down at his ruined shirt. Nile kept up the act, but twisted one arm behind her back and stuck her middle finger up at him through the window.

 _"Okay, so, that's Chen distracted for a good ten minutes,"_ Nile announced as she backed off and turned to head towards Andy. _"He may also have permanent burn scars."_

 _"On my way up,"_ Joe updated. _"Four minutes out"_

 _"New player is on our floor, heading straight to you,"_ Nile muttered as she paused beside a desk, eyes subtly tracking Man in Suit and his Entourage. _"And I am out of coffee."_

Andy stood, straightening her jacket while popping the button to allow easier access to the 9mm in her shoulder holster. _"Booker, I'll buy you some more time, but hurry the fuck up. Nicky, you got me?"_

Nicky lined up his rifle, bringing Andy into the crosshairs and raising slightly to focus on the corridor beyond. "Just give the word, Boss."

Man in Suit came bearing down on the office like a hurricane, his entourage scattering scared office workers in their wake as they didn't even try to hide the automatic weapons in their hands. Andy stepped up into the role of secretary, boldly insisting that Chen was in a meeting and not to be disturbed. (Chen's actual secretary was frozen behind her desk, smart enough not to contradict Andy's story.)

There were far too many people and a very strong chance of collateral damage. Thankfully, some of the office staff were taking the opportunity presented by Andy's show to get the fuck out - the entourage not looking for hostages just yet. This was supposed to be a business meeting (at gunpoint, but that was par for the course when dealing with people like Man in Suit) but it was about to go south very fast.

Man in Suit lost his patience, gesturing at the muscle on his left to remove Andy from their path. The gun came up to point the barrel at Andy and Nicky was already pulling the trigger even before Andy's order.

One clean head shot, a moment of confusion, and all hell broke loose.

Andy had her 9mm in hand, taking out two more of the entourage as she dove behind a column for cover. The office erupted in screams as the office staff either froze in curled-up balls or ran in a frenzied panic. Nile appeared and started trying to herd people towards the exit, taking a few bullets as she shielded the ones slower to move. Joe quickly appeared and joined her - their focus on the civilians while Andy drew fire.

They were left with six shooters and Man in Suit; but now that they knew there was a sniper they were hiding out of sight, or purposely putting the remaining civilians between themselves and the windows. One tried to grab Chen's secretary, but Joe fixed that with a bullet through the man's eye. Five left.

"I've got no shot," Nicky said, focusing on the slightest movements that would show the shooters emerging from their hiding places. There were still too many civilians. 

_"Book, tell me you are done,"_ Andy huffed from her cover as the men took pot shots at her.

 _"Good to go, boss,"_ Booker confirmed, and Nicky flickered his attention to the CEO's office briefly to see Booker approaching the door with his gun drawn. _"Any plan on how we're getting out?"_

Five shooters and a Man in a Suit shouldn't have been difficult - any other situation this would have been over in seconds. But this was very public, the police and Special Tactics and Rescue were likely on route as this became a suspected terrorist attack, and there was at least thirteen terrified office staff trapped in the crossfire. Copley was going to blow a gasket trying to cover up their presence here.

 _"We're going with Exfil Delta,"_ Andy decided. _"Nicky, you got 90 seconds."_

Joe made a small choked noise over the comms.

"Moving to secondary overwatch," Nicky agreed, rifle prepped and on his back without any sign of his presence left behind as he sprinted to the stairwell. He cleared two flights of stairs in 20-odd seconds, ignoring the growing tightness in his chest. Slamming through the door he found himself level with the arm of the crane running perpendicular to the building - his secondary sniper nest. With a running leap he landed on the latticed metal and free climbed down the slight incline of the arm, seventeen storeys in the air.

He came to a stop when the added height and new angle gave him to right view into the office building, all five remaining shooters easy pickings. He locked his legs around the metal and got the rifle resting and ready against the crossbar. The sound of sirens heading towards them grew louder. 

"In position," Nicky announced, sounding a little breathless. Ignoring the pain in his chest, he settled into purposely slow and steady sniper breathing, calculating the difference in wind speed and direction in his new exposed position.

_"Go."_

At Andy's order, everyone moved as one. Nicky lined up two of the shooters, taking them both down with one bullet, and then quickly taking down a third a second later. Booker stepped out of the office, taking down the persistent bastard who had emptied two clips into the pillar Andy was hiding behind, while Joe and Nile took out the remaining two. Andy stared down Man in Suit before putting two bullets in his chest.

The remaining office staff didn't seem to know what to do with the Guard as the gunfire finally stopped, watching fearfully from where they were huddled. There didn't seem to be any injuries - a small mercy - so as one Andy, Booker, Nile and Joe headed down. Nicky stayed where he was as overwatch, keeping an eye on the police and tactical unit as they arrived and set up operations. He didn't move until he heard the car engine start over the comms and watched the stolen sedan fishtail out of the underground garage.

 _"We're clear,"_ Andy declared. _"Meet you at the safehouse, Nicky."_

Nicky muttered an affirmative before muting his comm mic, focusing on dismantling his rifle properly as the pain in his chest grew worse. The air seemed thin and he struggled to draw a deep breath, devolving into short, sharp gasps that burned his throat as he swung his packed rifle onto his back.

He picked his way slowly back up the crane, not wanting to take a 17 storey swan dive onto a street packed with cops. HIs vision was starting to grey out at the edges as he reached the top, the short jump back to the building appearing impossibly longer than it should. He landed hard on the concrete and rolled out the impact, ending up sprawled awkwardly on his back with his rifle digging in to his shoulders.

His chest was on fire. 

It felt like there was something molten hot burning under his ribs, tearing deep with each shuddering gasp that he managed. His throat convulsed as hot blood scorched it and he coughed and choked. Through the haze of pain and panic he managed to roll on to his side, his fingers unconsciously finding his watch and hitting the switch. He struggled uselessly for air, drowning on his own blood until finally he slipped away into blackness.

_"Hey, Nicky? You make it out okay?"_

Nicky blinked slowly, moistening eyes dried by death.

_"Nicky? You there?"_

The first breath stuttered against the dry blood blocking his airway and he coughed until it cleared. He scanned his surroundings blearily, taking in the half-built shell of a skyscraper and confirming that he was still alone. He slapped an uncoordinated hand at his wristwatch which gave a gratifying beep.

 _"Nicky, you better answer before Joe turns this car around,"_ that was Nile. The first voice had been Andy, then Booker -- Joe worryingly silent.

"M good," Nicky said, before realising he had turned off his mic. With another fumble he switched it back on, voice a little stronger. "I'm good. Just waiting for an opening to get clear. Police mobilised quicker than I thought."

 _"You need back-up?"_ asked Joe, barely concealed panic in his voice and Nicky could picture his white-knuckled hands wringing mercilessly at the steering wheel. Nicky didn't know how long he had been radio silent for, guilt twisting his stomach for making them worry unnecessarily. 

Nicky wiped at the blood on his chin and cheek. "I'm fine, I've got the bike."

Andy grunted over the static. _"Fine. Stay on the fucking comms."_

She sounded pissed, but that was her _you scared me and I'm worried about you_ voice. Nicky muttered an apology in Italian before dragging himself upright. He glanced down at the puddle of dark blood beside him and grimaced at the sticky feel of it still on his face. He used the camera on his phone to check as he wiped himself clean, satisfied that he didn't look like he had just died. Then he checked his watch.

**00:08:42**

Closing his eyes briefly with a sigh, Nicky took the small notebook from his jacket pocket and jotted down the date, time, duration and cause of the attack - the scribbled notation joining a slowly growing list. 

The pain in his chest had dulled to the near-constant ache that he had grown used to over the past four months, his breathing still a little on the short side and his mouth tasting like metal. He had taken to carrying gum, and he chewed on one as he climbed to his feet and made his way cautiously down the stairs. He was damn lucky that the cops hadn't thought to search nearby buildings yet - perhaps the presence of a sniper hadn't been reported - and his bike was still parked by the exit waiting for him.

The ride to the safehouse was uneventful, and he answered the few calls for updates that he got from the team up until he reached the actual door.

"What took you so long?" was Andy's immediate question.

Nicky rolled his eyes. "Traffic."

Andy studied him, and for a moment Nicky thought that she had seen right through him. He silently prayed that he really had managed to get all of the blood off his face. She frowned. "Get cleaned up - Nile's cooking."

"So, macaroni and cheese or that abomination she calls a pizza?" Nicky teased, watching Nile scowl at him from where she was standing at the kitchen counter. Judging by the pan and the block of cheese she had laid out it was indeed a mac'n'cheese night. Nile's comfort food. 

Nicky felt his stomach twist even tighter with guilt.

Andy moved on and Joe was immediately there, cupping Nicky's jaw to lift his eyes to meet his. Joe's dark eyes were wide with concern, his lips still bitten raw where he hadn't given them a chance to heal. "I'm fine, my love. You worry too much."

"What happened? You disappeared off comms for nearly ten minutes," Joe asked. Nicky got the impression that Joe had been counting every second even as he had been forced to drive their getaway car further away from him. Joe had been in a constant state of near-panic, tense and barely eating and sleeping, ever since that damn day. Nicky just wanted to soothe it away, to reassure Joe that everything was fine and that it was over now. He would do anything to make Joe happy again.

Including lie to him.

"They had sent a team to check out the nearby buildings when they got reports of a sniper," Nicky shrugged. "I had to lay low for a bit, that's all."

Joe sighed, rolling his shoulders to try and ease the tension coiled there. He pressed their foreheads together, bringing Nicky close into the circle of his arms. "Can you tell us that next time, rather than leave us hanging?"

Nicky nodded. "I'm sorry for worrying you, love."

Joe pressed their lips together searchingly, but Nicky kept the kiss chaste so that Joe wouldn't be able to taste the blood in his mouth. He pulled back and smiled up at Joe. "I'm going to shower quickly - can you supervise Nile so that her monstrosity is actually edible?"

"I heard that!"

Nicky winked at Nile over Joe's shoulder before squeezing his hands briefly and heading towards their room. This was one of their nicer safehouses, a recent acquirement just outside of the city proper. It afforded them two bedrooms, Nile sharing with Andy in the twin room and Booker rooming with Joe and Nicky in the slightly larger master. It also had an ensuite bathroom which Nicky took full advantage of.

He shed his clothes in the bedroom, ditching his rifle on the chair and grabbing some clean clothes before disappearing for a good ten minute shower. He brushed his teeth twice, spitting red into the sink before getting dressed and heading out.

Booker was in the bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed and holding Nicky's jacket.

"Are you okay, Booker?"

He huffed a sardonic chuckle. "I was about to ask you that."

Nicky was starting to lose his well maintained patience just a little bit. "I'm fine. I wasn't the one getting shot at."

"What happened with the comms?"

"Seriously?" Nicky tossed the towel he had been using on his hair into the bathroom, not caring when it landed on the floor in a damp heap. "There were police in the building, I had to go radio silent for a little while. Nothing happened."

Booker hummed thoughtfully. "It's just that I checked the radio chatter, and they didn't send anyone to check the buildings for a good fifteen minutes. And then I found this."

Booker held up the jacket, and for a heart-stopping moment Nicky thought that Booker had found the notebook. But then he gestured at the sleeve and the streak of blood that ran from the cuff to the elbow. "There's more blood on your rifle bag. What happened?"

"I cut my hand on some glass," Nicky lied, making sure to look Booker in the eye as he gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I misjudged a landing and caught some glass and it bled quite a bit. I didn't want to tell Joe because he worries about that kind of thing now." 

They stared at each other in silence before Booker dropped the jacket and shook his head. "Fine, as long as you're okay," he conceded. "Dinner's almost ready, and I hear that mac'n'cheese is best enjoyed fresh. Even if it is Nile's version."

Nicky snorted a laugh and moved to walk through the door, just as Booker grabbed his elbow to stop him.

"You would tell us if there was something wrong, right?"

"Of course."

What was one more lie?


	2. Chapter 2

**BERLIN 2021**

"Oh fuck, Nicky's driving."

Nile didn't have time to parse that sentence, what with the trigger happy drug runners currently chasing them through the streets of Berlin, but Booker's tone made her blink. A bullet caught her in the shoulder, spurring a grunt of frustration before she fired blindly behind her. One of the shooters tripped but didn't go down and Nile cursed.

Persistent bastards. She and Booker had just burned their stash and blown up their base of operations - but instead of accepting defeat the drug runners had decided to take up arms. Sirens echoed between the buildings as the cops responded to reports of shots fired and it was time to get out of dodge, _quick._

Ahead of them a hatchback car was waiting, engine revving, and Nile and Booker sprinted towards it.

"Make sure you put your seatbelt on," Booker warned as he yanked open the back door. Nile just scoffed, firing two more shots as Booker scrabbled into the middle seat next to Andy, Joe then taking over cover fire out of the passenger window as Nile climbed in too. Nicky was indeed in the driver's seat, and Nile had about three seconds to ponder if Nicky had ever driven in the near year she'd been with them before flashing lights lit up the street.

"Seatbelt!" Booker yelped as suddenly the car shot backwards from 0-60mph, a sharp yank on the handbrake spinning them in a perfect J-turn.

"Holy fucking shit," Nile cussed, grabbing for her seatbelt desperately as Andy started cackling next to Booker. In front Joe was clinging to the oh-shit bar above the door with one hand and a tablet computer with the other. He gave a direction in rapid Italian and Nicky, calm as anything, threw the car in a tight turn and hurtled down a narrow street at near-90mph. Booker had both hands braced on the backs of the front seats and was quite possibly praying.

Three police cars boldly followed behind them, struggling to match Nicky's precise driving but clinging to their tail nonetheless.

Nile was incredibly grateful for their instant healing as she ended up getting whiplash repeatedly with every sudden handbrake turn (how Andy was surviving this - laughing no less - Nile had no idea) and she was strongly regretting the hamburger that she had indulged in for dinner.

"I know you're having fun, Nicky," Booker groaned, head down and looking just as nauseous as Nile felt, "but can you hurry up and fucking lose them already?"

A wicked smirk lit up Nicky's profile. "Oh, Book - you want to go faster? You should have said."

Both Joe and Andy burst into laughter as Booker started swearing rapidly in French, the little hatchback shooting forwards. Nile watched the poor speedometer hit 120mph, Nicky guiding the car round late night traffic on the winding streets as the growing number of cop cars tried to keep up. 

Joe gave another direction, Nile's grasp of Italian from Nicky's lessons good enough to recognise "red" and "left", and Nicky performed a handbrake turn at such a high speed the back tires kicked petulantly, scrabbling for traction on the tarmac. It was then, as she was pressed against the door of the car with the pressure of the G-force, that Nile noticed the rip in Nicky's sleeve. 

With the amount of bullet and stab wounds they take on a regular basis, Nile is fairly used to seeing rips and tears in their clothes; the wound gone and the blood already drying, but it had been a while since it had been Nicky. Her eyes caught on the stained fabric in the flashing lights of the pursuing cars, glistening and wet. And as Nicky reached for the gear stick, a fresh wave of blood spread the stain further.

Nile gasped, but it was lost beneath Joe's next instruction and then they were flying down a road that would have been better described as an alley. 

The police car closest to them screwed up the turn, slamming into the brick wall of the building on the corner and blocking the six or so other patrol cars from following. 

"Shit," Joe cursed as the alley opened up in to a back lot, full of police cars arranged in an horseshoe road block. Nicky didn't even hesitate, executing a drifted U-turn that spat debris and road spray at the patrol cars like a tidal wave. Hitting the accelerator, Nicky shot back down the alleyway - straight at the police car half-blocking the road. "Fuck - brace!"

Booker released his white-knuckled grip to throw an arm across Andy as an extra layer of protection just as Nicky rammed into the crashed car and forced it out of the way. They all grunted at the impact, thrown around in their seats like crash test dummies, but Nicky kept the hatchback under control and kept going down the street. The parked patrol cars scrambled to follow. 

"They've called in air support," Joe grumbled, seconds before the rumble of a helicopter joined the wail of sirens. "We'll need to get to cover and change cars."

"Nicky, get us gone," Andy ordered. 

Nicky did just that, pressuring the abused hatchback into high speeds as Joe directed him in a erratic pattern that had the helicopter straining to keep up. The moment that they were clear Nicky spun the car into an abstract parallel park, everyone piling out as one. Nile's limbs were like jelly as the adrenaline pumped from the high speed chase, and she staggered as she followed the others to their next ride. Nicky grinned at her, "Lost your land legs?"

"Who the fuck taught you to drive?" Nile asked exasperated. 

Nicky chuckled. "Sandro Munari, when he was training for the European series in the 70's."

"I'll google him," Nile shook her head and reached out to hold Nicky's arm for balance, not expecting Nicky to wince in pain. "Are you--"

"Can I drive?" Nicky asked, flashing Booker a shit-eating grin. 

Booker glared at Nicky from where he was breaking into another car, Joe and Andy chuckling where they were keeping watch. "Not a fucking chance," he growled. "You want to drive, you steal your own car and take the damn hyenas with you."

Nicky laughed, but conceded, heading for the back door and letting Booker take the wheel. Andy went for the passenger side while Joe followed Nicky, brushing his fingers casually across Nicky's shoulders. Nile glanced down at her hand, at the blood smeared across her fingertips. Nicky's blood.

"Nile?" Andy called, snapping Nile to attention and she hurried to climb in to the back seat. Booker put the car in drive and they smoothly merged with traffic, the rhythmic _thwup_ of the helicopter and the blare of the sirens echoing around the city. 

Nile took a breath before glancing to her left, her eyes focusing on the rip in Nicky's sleeve. Joe was holding all of Nicky's attention, talking in that old, old Italian and holding hands - probably reminiscing about learning to drive with professional race car driver 50-odd years ago. Nile brushed her fingers across the tear, pulling it apart to reveal the bullet graze slashed through his bicep. It was still bleeding sluggishly.

When had he been shot? It must have been before they got in the car, and that was... that was, ten minutes ago? Maybe more? Oh shit. It wasn't healing. _He's not healing._

"N--"

"It's fine," Nicky whispered, covering her hand with his own. Joe had leaned forward and was taking the piss out of Booker and his old man driving, Andy cackling along like the cavewoman she secretly was. Nicky squeezed Nile's hand over the wound and then pulled it down. "See, it's healing fine."

Nile sighed in relief as she watched the skin finally knit back together. "Why did it take so long?"

Nicky shrugged, eyes flicking to Joe as if to make sure that he was still distracted. "It's just like that sometimes."

"I thought it was just big wounds that can take--"

"Don't worry about it, Nile," Nicky cut her off, smiling at Joe when he glanced back with a smirk at Booker's expense. He turned back to Nile, pulling her into a one-armed hug and pressing a kiss to her hair. "Even after all this time, we still don't know everything, and no two injuries are ever the same. You'll get used to it." Nile looked at him doubtfully. "Look, I know you guys have been worried about it, and I'm sorry I scared you but I'm fine. Everything's fine."

Nile frowned, but nodded, accepting the hug and resting her head against Nicky's shoulder. He was warm against her cheek and that reassured her more than anything, even as doubt settled deep in her stomach.

"I've been replaced?" Joe demanded in mock outrage, eyes smiling as he gestured at them. He then proceeded to cover Nicky's entire other half and press an obnoxious kiss to his cheek, making Nicky roll his eyes fondly. 

"She needs emotional support to get over Nicky's driving," Booker grumbled. Andy swatted his arm.

Nile smiled at them, this bunch of old people who never grew up. Her family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: While planning, I had this chapter titled in my head as "Baby Driver"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter follows the events of "A Rock and a Hard Place" - you will need to have read that fic or this won't make any sense!
> 
> Warning for description of a panic attack

**BRAZIL 2021**

Andy hated her mortal healing factor.

Even two days after getting blown up her ears were still ringing and her head simultaneously felt hollow with a painful dull ache and stuffed full and swollen with cotton wool. She was still getting dizzy and nauseous (apparently concussion symptoms could last a while, so yay for that) and she was constantly tired and unable to sleep. Her ribs protested every breath, even though by some miracle they were just _bruised_ and her leg had been rendered essentially useless - the fucking cast itching like a bitch.

She hated crutches. She hated that her balance was shot and a simple walk from bedroom to bathroom had become a mission in and of itself. She hated the worried looks that Booker and Nile kept shooting her, offering to help at every wince and quiet grunt of discomfort. She had hated the hospital and Booker playing the part of her concerned husband. She hated that she had needed a medevac. And she absolutely _despised_ the fact that her vulnerability and weakness had left the team open and exposed the whole of exfil.

To summarise, Andy was not in a good mood. 

"Hey Boss," Booker called from the kitchen, "you want anything to eat?"

Andy swallowed a growl of impotent frustration and dropped her head back against the couch cushions, glaring at the ceiling as if it would have the answers, or at the very least bless her with patience. They were just trying to help, she told herself forcefully, they were trying to deal with her mortality just as she was. It wasn't fair to get mad at them for looking after her.

But still.

She was basically an invalid right then, set up on the couch with her leg propped on the coffee table; Nile having set her up with Netflix and Booker stacking a massive pile of books beside her to keep her entertained. Forced inactivity was barely a step above captivity as far as she was concerned and she was one well-meaning question away from justifiable homicide. 

It wasn't as if she hadn't picked up injuries on the handful of missions that they had carried out since she had lost her immortality, but none of them had taken her so completely out of commission. The team had kept her shielded, taken more bullets for her than she cared to count (but couldn't help but to anyway), trying to keep her from being the first one through the door.

It chafed and frustrated her to no end. She was still strong, and capable and had six millennia of combat experience, damn it. But it was dawning on her that all of that meant nothing in the path of a bullet. Or a bomb. 

A bomb that would have killed her if not for Nicky.

Andy had only been semi-aware following the blast. She had been conscious for mere seconds before Nile found them, trapped on her back with Joe's panicked voice shouting through the comm static and a blurry outline of Nicky's bloodied face above her in the darkness. The next thing she knew she was being tugged free, Nile's hands flying down her body to assess her injuries while furtively glancing at a pile of rubble. 

Then Joe and Booker were there and everything was hazy. She never got a good look at how badly Nicky was hurt (killed. He was dead.) but she had seen Joe's face. He had been shattered and was barely holding the shards together - he never reacted well when it was Nicky, but this was... it was far too soon after IYS - waiting for Nicky to wake up. He had been torn up badly, lost an arm, and it took _so long._

"Boss?"

Andy blinked, glancing behind her at Booker who was watching her worriedly. "I'm good, Book. Ask Joe."

Booker pulled a face, an odd mix of irritated, concerned and guilty, and gestured at the hallway that led to the bedrooms. "He won't-- He's not. He's waiting for Nicky."

Andy closed her eyes and sighed. Nicky had been unconscious since before she had even gotten back from the hospital, and had stayed that way ever since. She remembered the aftermath of Joe re-growing his lower body following the landmine in Vietnam. It had taken a week for him to recover and even longer to shake the constant exhaustion that had gripped him after. Nicky was going to be out of the game for a while, and she would be damned if she let Joe waste away right next to him.

If there was one thing Andy was still perfectly capable of, it was looking after her brothers. And that was exactly what she was going to do.

Grabbing the cursed crutches, Andy hauled herself to her feet, startling a yelp from Booker as he made to dart towards her to help. Andy shot him down with a glare that froze him mid-step. "So help me Book if you keep this up for the next however many months it takes to heal this fucking leg I will murder you. Repeatedly."

Booker nodded, raising his hands in surrender as Andy hobbled slowly across the lounge and past the kitchen counter towards the hallway. She could hear Booker's grin as he called out, "So you're good getting up the stairs all by yourself?"

Ah. Stairs. Her new nemesis.

"You can help me up the stairs," she conceded.

"Can I carry you bridal style like the warrior princess you are?" he smirked as he came up beside her. 

"Don't push it, Book."

He didn't carry her up the stairs, but he did patiently support her as she struggled up one step at a time. He held her steady when she had to pause for a few minutes halfway up when vertigo hit, silently touching his hand to her back when they made it to the landing before turning to head back downstairs. "Good luck, Boss."

Andy knocked on the bedroom door but didn't wait for a response before entering. She had learned that doors were difficult to navigate with both hands occupied with crutches and only one leg to hop on, but she made it, knocking the door closed behind her and blowing a stray strand of hair from her face.

Joe blinked at her, surprised by her sudden and frankly embarrassing arrival. 

In four words, he was a mess. He must have gotten changed out of his bloody mission outfit, but not since if the crumpled sweats and tee were any indication. His curls were greasy disaster, stuck up on one side where he must have been laying on them. He looked exhausted and his hand was shaking slightly where he had grabbed the handgun that Nicky usually kept within arms reach. He was propped up against the headboard, placing himself between Nicky and the door.

"Hey Joe."

"Hey," he replied, voice a little hoarse. He coughed to clear it, glancing behind him at Nicky before tucking the handgun back in its hiding place. "Uh, how did you get up here? Everything okay?"

Andy smiled reassuringly. "Everything's fine, just had to escape my babysitters before they killed me with kindness. Book is compulsive cooking, and he won't stop trying to feed me. Pretty sure there's a three-course meal downstairs if you're hungry."

"I'm good thanks." Joe declined with a shake of his head, his attention returning to Nicky's sleeping form like his eyes were magnetised. Tension thrummed through every muscle of his body and he didn't seem present in the room. Andy couldn't see Nicky, Joe was blocking him protectively from view, but she figured that he must still be asleep and oblivious to Joe spiralling right next to him. _Shit._

There were very few things in the world that would get through to Joe right then, but Andy was not above playing dirty.

She hummed and started forward until she could hit the bed with her crutch. "So, the stairs wiped me out and I'm supposed to be keeping my leg elevated, you mind?"

After a confused pause in which Joe just looked at her, he was up and moving. He stood to clear room for her to sit on the bed, placing her crutches to one side but within easy reach and then carefully lifting her leg on to a pillow. It wasn't until she was settled beside Nicky, smiling smugly, that Joe realised that he had been played.

"Did you just--" he stammered. 

"Yes," Andy nodded. "You're exhausted and you smell and I know that Nicky has had more to eat and drink in the past 48 hours than you. You're no good to anyone if you pass out from starvation."

"I-I C-can't -I c-can't--" Joe looked stricken and was quite possibly not breathing, his hands flexing as if they were missing something to hold on to and Andy realised that she may have miscalculated. 

She opened her arms. "Oh, Yusuf, come here."

He folded like a hand of cards, dropping to his knees beside the bed and pressing his forehead to Andy's stomach, clinging to her shirt. She soothed one hand across his shoulders and tangled the other in his curls, scratching lightly at his scalp as the first sob escaped him. He was wound so tight beneath her fingers it felt as if he was coming apart at the seams. How long had he been holding this in? Since the explosion? Since they dug the bullets out of Nicky's chest? Since he had had to swallow everything down so that everyone could escape Merrick safe?

Andy didn't hush him, didn't try to slow the tears that were quickly soaking her shirt, she just waited and held his broken pieces until he could pull himself together on his own.

It took nearly an hour before his shuddering breaths started to calm, his body slumping against the edge of the mattress in exhaustion. 

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he murmured after a while, pushing himself up and visually checking on Nicky before meeting Andy's eyes, cheeks aflame with exertion and shame. "It's just, I didn't mean to, everything's just--"

"You've got nothing to apologise for," Andy said sternly. His face was a mess from crying and she brushed her thumbs under his swollen eyes to dry the tears. She leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead, ignoring the protest from her ribs. "Talk to me."

Joe shook his head, eyes flicking from Nicky to Andy to the floor. "I wasn't ready. I'm never going to be ready. He was still, so fucking still and the _blood._ Why does this-- I keep nearly losing him Andy. Merrick, Keane putting a _gun_ in his _mouth,_ those _damn bullets_ he was dead he was dead he _left me"_

He stuttered on a gasp, his breathing speeding back up again. "I-I can't. I can't do it again. I can't hold his corpse waiting for him to wake up every time scared that this is it. He's gone. I can't even-- he's so still Andy. So fucking still and I keep seeing-- I can't watch him sleep like this. I want him to rest and get better but I'm so fucking _terrified_ he's not going to wake up--"

"He's okay, Joe," Andy whispered. "He's right here and he's safe and I promise you that he's going to wake up soon. You don't have to keep watch over him."

"I said I would look after him."

Andy cupped his jaw and touched their foreheads together. "He would want you to look after yourself too."

Joe pulled back, staring past her at Nicky's sleeping face. "I can't leave him, but it hurts to look at him I keep seeing the blood. He was _ripped apart_ and broken and he couldn't breathe he keeps drowning, Andy, _he's drowning in his own blood_ she's making him _drown"_

Guilt ripped through Andy surer than any bullet. This was her fault. Everything was her fault. She had missed the trigger in the boss' hand that had set off the explosion that had shredded Nicky. She was so absorbed in her own misery and tiredness that she had missed Booker's cries for help, driving him to Copley-- to Merrick. She had given up on the search for Quynh, abandoned her and let her be tortured and twisted into a monster that had punished Nicky for Joe's perceived sin. It was _all her fault._

"I'm sorry, Joe," Andy said quietly, trying to keep her own tears from falling. "I'm so goddamn sorry. I'll find a way to fix it."

Joe didn't seem to hear her, his mind miles away in a cottage in England, clinging to Nicky as he kept dying in his arms, again and again.

Andy's heart was breaking; she was in pain and lost and tired, but they needed her to be strong. Joe needed her to be strong right now.

She gripped the back of his neck, putting the tone of an order into her voice. "Joe, take a break. Go take a shower, you can leave the door open. I'll get Booker to bring us up some food and then I'm going to stay here and watch over you both so you can get some sleep, alright?"

Joe blinked slowly, his mind and body so exhausted that he couldn't really fight the command. On autopilot he stood and disappeared into the ensuite bathroom, steam billowing out into the bedroom as he started the shower. Andy texted Booker and five minutes later he had two plates of food ready and he placed them on the bedside table. He looked to the bathroom, then to Nicky and finally settled on Andy. "You good, Boss?"

She smiled up at him, "Yeah, Book. We're good."

He didn't look convinced, but he took her words as a dismissal and left, throwing her one last look before closing the door.

Joe came out of the bathroom naked, grabbing soft clothes to change in to before climbing in to bed on the other side so that Nicky was sheltered between them. He made an attempt to eat the food, managing a little more than Andy had hoped for but not able to finish the plate. 

With a grateful look at Andy, he settled down on his side. He rested a hand on Nicky's chest, matching his breathing in time with him before letting his eyes close and finally falling asleep.

Andy watched them both for a long while, the sun setting and the room descending into complete darkness as she was left with nothing but her guilt and the soft sounds of her brothers at rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this chapter took an unexpected turn. I planned it as Nicky/Andy sleepy cuddle bonding time and ended up finally letting Joe have the release he really needed. Poor Joe.
> 
> Maybe sleepy cuddles can come later?


	4. Chapter 4

When Nicky awoke, his entire left side tingled with phantom pains, and his right side was warm and mildly crushed.

Disorientated, he blinked open heavy eyes to find a white ceiling above him, then looking from side to side to take in the unfamiliar modern bedroom furniture. The window was open, allowing a soft breeze and ambient noise from the outside world to filter in.

Someone was lying curled half on top of him, his foggy mind thinking _Joe_ before he realised that the weight and scent wasn't right.

"Andy?"

Andy grumbled into his t-shirt and burrowed closer. She had her arm wrapped tightly around his waist, her thigh thrown over his hip with the heavy cast propped on the cushion laid across his shins. After a moment she snuffled, pushing herself up a little with a hand on his chest. She frowned, that same expression Joe got whenever his fingers brushed over the raised scars there. "You okay?"

"Where's Joe?" Nicky asked sleepily, eyes flicking to the doors, half expecting Joe to saunter out of the bathroom and scold him for waiting for the two minutes that he took to pee to choose to wake up. But Joe didn't appear and panic seized him.

"He's downstairs, Nile and Booker are with him," Andy explained, thumb running over the scars absently. Nicky furrowed his eyebrows in concern and confusion. Joe never left him when he was hurt or defenceless, just as Nicky would never leave him. At the chateaux just a few months ago, Joe had practically been attached to his hip, even when Nicky was recovered and fine. He still was the majority of the time. So why would he...? 

"He needed a break."

Nicky sucked in a breath. "Is he okay? What's wrong?"

Andy smiled and shook her head, lifting her hand from his chest to run it through his hair instead. "Nothing, he's fine. He just needed a moment."

Nicky made to get up, needing to check on Joe, but Andy hissed in pain at the movement. Part of Nicky knew that it had been exaggerated, had seen Andy fake a long-healed injury or be in genuine agony enough times over the centuries to tell the difference, but he couldn't stifle his automatic reaction to freeze before settling back down. Andy hummed, wrapping herself tighter around him, securing him against a repeat escape attempt.

"He's fine, I promise you," she whispered against his neck. "It's just, he's been through a lot. He'll be glad to see you awake."

Nicky stared at the ceiling for a while, body and mind still exhausted, before he finally managed to connect those two statements; confusion rapidly twisting into guilt. He had grown so used to Joe just being there, a warm presence at his back while he slept, the smile when he awoke, that Nicky realised he hadn't looked any closer. He hadn't noticed that Joe was always awake before him when usually he was the heavy sleeper of the pair. Hadn't paid attention to that flicker of relief in his eyes that accompanied that almost-brittle smile.

So much had happened in such a short space of time. They had spent a peaceful year together while the team took a break and then it had all gone wrong so fast, an avalanche of shitty things happening in quick succession. Sudan. Merrick. Keane. Quynh. Singapore. And now this.

How many times had Joe watched Nicky bleed and die in that time? How many times had he been left behind waiting, scared and terrified? He hadn't had the chance to calm, to settle. Joe had needed Nicky close and whole in order to reaffirm that they were safe - to allow himself to calm down. But Nicky had only given part of himself back to Joe, hadn't he?

Whenever the pain in his chest got too bad, he pulled away. When he felt a cough burning his throat with the too-familiar taste of blood he made excuses and disappeared. He locked himself away while Joe was desperately reaching for him.

He could only imagine the horror and terror his family were put through as he had died again and again on that kitchen table. The few snatches of memory that he had were full of pain and fear and their stricken faces. But it had been over. It should have been over.

He _wanted_ it to be over for them. He couldn't make them watch any more.

It was why he was lying to Joe, to all of them. Knowing that it was intentional, that it was Quynh's doing to punish Joe, he wanted to protect him from further hurt. But it was Nicky that was hurting Joe now, wasn't it?

"I'll find a way to fix it," he muttered under his breath. He had been awake twenty minutes at most, but his freshly healed body was already protesting its exhaustion. 

Andy hummed again, half-asleep herself as her own body healed slowly. She brushed her thumb rhythmically across his ribs, soothing them both back in to sleep.

The next time Nicky awoke, he was alone.

He had the knee-jerk reaction to search for Joe, blindly clambering to his feet before sudden vertigo sent him tumbling to the floor. He felt dizzy and sick and his panicked gasps tickled his throat and had him coughing and coughing--

_Shit._

There was blood on his tongue and his chest was burning and all Nicky could think was _not now please not now Joe can't find me no no nonono_

He tried desperately to swallow the coughs, not wanting the sound to attract anyone to the bedroom. Walking proved an impossible ask, so he dragged himself in an army crawl across the carpet, sliding onto the bathroom tiles and kicking the door closed behind him. He couldn't breathe, his chest spasming with each futile attempt. He choked and blood splattered on the bathroom floor.

His vision was already starting to grey from lack of oxygen, but he managed to grab one of the towels from the rack. He tried to wipe up the blood with shaking hands, hoping to get rid of it before it stained but he was growing cold, so cold--

Slumping on his side he pillowed his head on the towel, watching the white cotton turn red with each of his last breaths.

Upon waking, his hand automatically went to his wrist to stop the timer, but he hadn't been wearing his watch. He had no idea how long it had been, but the room was now dark and he didn't think it had been before. He stayed silent, listening for any presence in the bedroom, but all seemed quiet.

He released the breath he had been holding, choking on the dried blood lodged in his throat. 

With a groan he pushed himself upright to survey the damage. Thankfully, the towel had caught most of the blood except for the first splatter. He picked it up, disconcerted to find that the blood had _dried,_ then searched the cupboard under the sink for a bottle of bleach. With that cleaned he tossed the towel to the side to dispose of later, before staggering to his feet.

His vision swayed dangerously, hands still shaking and chest constricted like he had taken a punch to the sternum. He glanced at his reflection, ignoring the exhaustion in his eyes and sickly pale complexion to check for any blood. His clothes had survived unscathed, though they smelled a little ripe from sleeping in them for however-many days straight, and other than his chin and teeth he was remarkably blood-free.

Too close.

Joe could have walked in at any moment and found him dead, _again._ Nicky had only just scared the hell out of him, enough to drive him from their bed, and here he was doing it all over again? _No._ It had to stop. He had to _fix_ this. 

He refused to be the blade that tore Joe apart.

Turning on the shower to heat up, Nicky brushed his teeth and then stripped, hiding the bloody towel in his dirty clothes and ditching them out of sight in a corner. He stood under the spray until the water ran clean, all evidence of the episode disappearing down the plughole. He scrubbed away days of sleep sweat and dirt, losing track of time under the punishing water pressure.

By the time that he stepped out the bathroom was steamed up and foggy. Clean clothes had been left for him on the toilet seat, and he quickly dried and got dressed.

Joe was waiting for him, perched tensely on the edge of the bed and looking up the moment that the bathroom door opened. He stared at Nicky for a long moment before audibly sighing and closing his eyes in relief.

"Yusuf," Nicky said quietly, closing the distance between them and coming to stand before Joe. Instinctively Joe reached out, grabbing Nicky's hips and bringing him closer into the V of his legs. He pressed his forehead to Nicky's stomach, wrapping his arms around his thighs. Nicky stroked one hand down Joe's back and tangled the other in the curls at the nape of Joe's neck. 

Joe breathed slowly, just holding on tightly for a while, before leaning his head back so that he could meet Nicky's eyes. They were always so expressive, everything he was feeling there for anyone to see if they just took the time to look. But Nicky hadn't done that for a long time, too long, and now finally he could see the pain and the love, the worry, guilt and sadness.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to wake up alone. Nile managed to convince me to go downstairs for dinner--"

"It's fine, my love," Nicky interrupted, never wanting Joe to feel guilty for anything ever again. "Don't worry about it, I'm just glad that you've eaten. I want you to look after yourself too."

Joe looked away for a moment, before forcing a smile. "Are you feeling okay? Are you hungry? You must be. I'm sure there are leftovers, I can go get some for you if you're not up for coming downstairs yet--"

"Yusuf," Nicky said, cutting him off with a light tug on Joe's hair. He then dropped to his knees, careful not to dislodge Joe's grip around him, so that he could press a long kiss to his lips. Joe tried to deepen the kiss, an edge of desperation to it, but Nicky kept it slow and languid until he finally felt some of the tension leave Joe's shoulders. "I am so sorry for scaring you again."

"You were protecting Andy," Joe said. "I just--"

"I know," Nicky nodded. "I promise I'll be more careful."

Joe leaned in for another kiss, taking control this time until he had Nicky groaning and pressing closer for more. Without parting their lips, Joe pulled them both backwards and on to the bed, Nicky on top for all of three seconds before Joe rolled them and pinned Nicky to the mattress. Parts of Nicky's anatomy were definitely interested in taking things further but after a few minutes he had to pull away to yawn. 

Joe laughed against his neck as Nicky moaned in frustration. "I am so mad that I am too tired right now." 

Joe just kept laughing, giving Nicky one quick roll of his hips in sweet torture before sliding to one side and tangling their legs together. "I have missed you, habibi."

Nicky swallowed guiltily. "I am sorry."

Joe pressed kisses to his throat and jaw and a lingering one to his lips. "We should get away, go somewhere, just the two of us," he suggested. "Andy will be on crutches for a while, so there won't be any missions, and Nile and Booker will keep an eye on her so we can go, I need to--"

He cut himself off, his eyes flicking to Nicky's chest and becoming distant. "I need this. We need this. Run away with me?"

"Anywhere you want to go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the love! 
> 
> In answer to a few questions; unfortunately Joe does not know what is going on with Nicky yet (but he will soon... very soon) he was caught in a flashback last chap of We Go Together :)
> 
> This is likely the last of the daily updates for a little bit - I have to go that horrible employment thing, ugh - but I shall update asap!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, I am back! I thank for your patience and I have a note at the end of this chapter regarding the hiatus. 
> 
> This chapter experiences a slight time jump - you may recall Joe asking Nicky to go on vacation at the end of last chapter, which has happened in the nebulous in between of this time jump. Apologies for any jarring, I just wanted to get into plot this chapter and get this fic rolling. I may at some point come back and write Nicky & Joe's Roman Holiday of Fluff and Angst, but if any of the fantastic creators out there fancy, I more than welcome you to play in my sand box.
> 
> But enough of all that, enjoy!

**ROME - 2022**

"Mr De Luca, I have some unfortunate news."

Nicky shifted in his seat, eyes flicking to the door briefly before settling back on the doctor. The office was simple, the walls a muted blue and the furniture functional and modern. A sash window showed a beautiful view of the city and allowed indistinct chatter to filter up from the street below. Behind the desk there were many certificates and awards announcing Dr Giardini's qualifications.

One exit from the room, three exits from the building. Security cameras suffering a mysterious malfunction. Internet cut to the entire street, electronic records set to be deleted.

"I have reviewed your scan and, well."

Dr Giardini himself was a young man, early-thirties with dark cropped hair and reading glasses perched at the end of his nose. He had a wife that worked at the local school and two daughters. Moderate income, no evidence of elicit deals. 

His eyes were wide as he looked from the report in his hands, to Nicky, and back.

"It is a miracle that you are alive, let alone... " he gestured vaguely at Nicky's everything, which was most likely in reference to the fact that Nicky was currently conscious and breathing on his own.

It was a risk. A _major_ risk.

Joe had chosen Rome as their vacation destination of choice, though he had rented out the apartment for a year so it was more like a sabbatical. Between galleries and theatres and romantic dinners, Nicky had spent the time trying to find a solution. His heart broke at the hurt in Joe's eyes every time that Nicky had had to beg off a lazy morning in bed or a late night stroll in favour of disappearing and losing himself in his research.

This time was supposed to bring them closer together, but Nicky feared that it had only pulled them further apart.

It had taken six months to get to this point. First to accept that it was necessary, and then to be sure that he could willingly offer himself up for a doctor to analyse (and that resolve had been severely tested when he had crossed the threshold). Sourcing himself a fake ID that could not be traced back to the team, researching and vetting every possible doctor to be sure that there was no connection to Merrick or IYS.

Which all lead to Dr Giardini and a CT scan. 

"Mr De Luca," Dr Giardini said gravely after a long pause, seeming to struggle with his words. "I have to tell you that your prognosis is critical. The gunshot wound that you suffered has left a fragment of shrapnel behind, which is lodged between your fifth and sixth rib. It is right beside your left lung and alarmingly close to your heart. With exertion, or even just the wrong movement, it could puncture either organ and kill you in minutes."

Nicky nodded slowly, fingers flexing on the arm rest.

"It has been some time since you were wounded, yes?" Dr Giardini asked, tone somewhere between perplexed and amazed. "You were not treated in a hospital, there are no surgical scars... It is quite astounding that you survived at all."

Nicky hummed non-committedly, all too aware that they were treading on dangerous ground.

"I understand that this is a lot, you have clearly been through significant trauma--"

"Can it be removed?" Nicky interrupted.

Dr Giardini blinked. "Uh, yes. I believe so. It would be a dangerous surgery given the placement of the fragment and its proximity to your heart. I would need to discuss your case with some colleagues and I would like to admit you to a local facility to monitor you..."

"May I see the scan? I have some medical experience," Nicky asked, gesturing at the report. There was no way that he could have the surgery at a hospital, however now that he knew that the shrapnel was there he could look in to what to do next. Whether it was something he could remove himself or if he would need to find another doctor. He may need to contact Copley, if he could find a way to guarantee that Joe and the others never found out. He would have to cover his tracks in Rome first...

"Oh, uh, of course. My secretary will send you a copy. The facility is--"

Dr Giardini's head exploded.

_"Shit!"  
_

Nicky leapt from his chair and crouched out of sight of the window, cursing the fact that he couldn't have brought a weapon in to the office with him. Dr Giardini was slumped in his chair, his brain matter splattered across his certificates. High velocity round, long distance - sniper.

But who was the target? There had to have been a good 6ft between them, if Nicky was the target then the shooter was ridiculously incompetent - but that was a perfect headshot, so the doctor _must_ have been the target? But _why?_

"What the fuck?"

The door was opposite the window, and there was no cover in between. There was no way to leave the room without being exposed to the shooter. And the report was sitting on Giardini's desk.

Nicky waited a full two minutes, and no more shots came. He decided to take the risk. He darted forward, grabbing the report as he sprinted for the door, expecting a bullet between his shoulder blades at any moment.

But he made it to the hallway, slamming the office door closed behind him and startling the secretary behind his desk. "Mr De Luca? Is everything all right?"

"Yes, just uh, just some bad news," Nicky lied, silently hoping that he didn't have any blood spray on him. "Dr Giardini is just making some calls. I, I need to get some air."

The secretary nodded, and gestured toward the door. "Of course."

With a tight smile, Nicky turned and left, hurrying down the stairs and heading towards the rear exit. He knew that the alleyway was too tight for a sniper to get an angle for a shot, and it led out further down the street which would force the shooter to reposition if they were still intent on him. 

As he ran he could feel his heart was pounding with adrenaline, chest tightening

_...exertion, or even just the wrong movement, could puncture either organ and kill you in minutes..._

Nicky purposely slowed down his breathing, fingers unconsciously brushing against the scars. Now that he knew that it was there he could practically feel the fragment rubbing against his ribs, brushing his lung with each too-deep breath

_Not the time_

He paused at the mouth of the alley, eyes tracking the windows and rooftops for any signs of the sniper. They must have used a silencer or were shooting from a greater distance as no one had reacted to the shot, the street just as busy with cars and foot traffic as it had been before. Pulling his hood up, Nicky blended with the crowd, allowing the flow to carry him along.

He needed to get to the apartment before he had another episode in the street, his chest already burning in warning. They were coming at least weekly now, and it was taking nearly an hour to revive - he couldn't afford a public death and an escape attempt from the morgue. But he couldn't lead whoever the fuck it was who had just murdered the doctor back to where he and Joe were staying.

He could taste blood.

 _Shit._ He had to get somewhere safe. He had to--

"Nicolo."

Nicky froze. The woman walking behind him cussed at him as she was made to veer round him, but Nicky ignored her.

"It's been a long time," Quynh smiled. She was seated casually at a table outside a coffee shop, dressed in red and wearing sunglasses in the spring afternoon. She gestured at the seat opposite her. "Come, join me." 

It was a threat masked as an invitation.

The café was tiny, most of its seating encroaching on the sidewalk of the busy street and forcing the constant stream of pedestrians to brush against the customers. Quynh had chosen a table right on the edge, completely exposed to several potential sniper points.

Nicky swallowed down the metallic taste in his mouth and schooled his expression as he slowly took the offered seat.

"Would you like anything?" Quynh asked conversationally. Her English was near perfect with only the slightest hint of an accent. With her modern clothes and confident poise it was impossible to imagine that two years ago she had been drowning on repeat for 500 years. The only signs of her trauma were the age of her eyes and the small tremor of her hand as she took a sip of her coffee. "They do this drink called a Macchiato, it's quite delightful. Though I imagine you're not feeling too bright following Dr Giardini's news?"

Nicky's heart jumped painfully, though he stifled the automatic urge to rub at his chest. Quynh was watching him carefully, searching for any sign of weakness.

"It is a shame," she continued mournfully, "he was such a good doctor. Beautiful family too. But alas, we can't have outsiders looking too closely at us now, can we?"

"That wasn't necessary. I was handling the risk," Nicky gritted out.

Quynh rolled her eyes. "Of course you were. Exposing your not-deadness to the medical community. I am sure that would have ended very well."

"Yes, and I'm sure murder was far more subtle."

"You and I both know that dead men tell no tales."

"Modern forensics would disagree with you."

Quynh threw back her head with a musical laugh that took Nicky back to roadside campfires and medieval inns. For just a moment all of the centuries disappeared and he could see the Quynh that they had lost. "Oh Nicolo, I have missed you."

He wanted to tell her that he had missed her too, that he wanted her to come back to them so they could help her, but his words were choked on copper. He tried to subtly clear his throat but it did nothing to alleviate the thick pressure in his throat and chest. Quynh smiled, all teeth and predatory eyes.

"How often are the deaths happening now? Almost weekly, I believe? Not as often as I was left to drown, but quite traumatic none the less. Rather painful too," she said casually, taking another sip of her coffee. Nicky tried to glare, tried to out-stubborn his own body, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe. "Are you feeling alright Nicolo? You look quite ill."

A harsh cough set Nicky's chest on fire, as if he were trying to breathe glass shards rather than air. He was deteriorating, though not as fast as he had before, and he had the sudden giddy thought that it must be his lung that the shrapnel had caught this time, not his heart. Blood flecked his lips, and Quynh handed him a napkin with a barely suppressed grin.

"Oh dear," she cooed with faux concern as she flagged down the waitstaff. The other coffee shop patrons and passers-by were looking at Nicky apprehensively, but he cared very little beyond the excruciating pain. "Could you get my companion a glass of water?"

Nicky's head was pounding from the lack of oxygen by the time that he had finally caught his breath, his hand shaking as he reached for the glass and took a careful sip.

"I had thought that you would try to resolve this sooner," Quynh said thoughtfully as Nicky tried to steady himself with cautious breaths. "What with your spook Copley to cover your tracks. A year and a half later and you are still suffering. Alone, unfortunately. But alas, I am sure that when the full truth comes out you will hurt them far worse than I could have ever hoped."

"What--" Nicky coughed and tried again. "What do you mean?"

"I am sure that you have noticed how slow you are to heal even the smallest of injuries? How much longer it is taking you to revive?" Quynh leaned forward and stroked Nicky's shirt over the raised scars. "The fragment that Dr Giardini found, it isn't _just_ killing you. It has been _poisoning_ you. Trace metals circulating in your bloodstream and slowing your healing down. Theoretically, you could even start to age too."

Quynh shrugged. "It has been in your body for so long now, who knows if the affects can ever be truly reversed?"

Nicky swallowed down bloody bile, dread filling him as he pictured his future. A burden on the team, no longer able to heal. A security risk if found before he could revive. The pain Joe would feel as he was forced to wait and wait every time that Nicky died. And what if he did start to age? His immortality lost? To leave Joe behind when they had always promised to go together...

"And to think, this could have been avoided if you had simply trusted them. In trying to protect them with your martyrdom, you will be the one to break them all."

Closing his eyes, Nicky valiantly attempted to push down his guilt and panic, focusing on Quynh's words. "All of us? You wish for Andromache to suffer as well?"

Quynh paused, head tilting slightly. "No, no I do not wish for Andromache to suffer. I do not blame her, she was led astray--"

"But this, what you have done, it hurts her too," Nicky interrupted, eliciting a scowl from Quynh. "She blames herself for your actions, she feels responsible for having to leave you and all of the consequences that you have wrought on her family for that choice."

 _"No._ No, I am her family," Quynh denied. "She will see that. She will realise that what I have done was to avenge her. To punish you and Yusuf for taking her from me."

"We _helped_ her, Quynh," Nicky argued. It was difficult to speak through the cloying feeling of blood in his throat as his lungs struggled with shortening breaths, but he knew that he had to say these words. "What you went through, _no one_ can imagine your suffering. But that does not mean that another's pain is invalid. Andromache was _broken_ after she lost you. She became reckless with her life. She didn't wish to keep living without you, but could not die. Yusuf and I, we held her together. We made sure that she kept living."

Quynh shook her head, confusion in her eyes. _"No, no, no._ She was searching for me until Yusuf made her stop. If _you_ hadn't have taken her away she would have found me. We would have been together again and happy. Damian said--"

"Damian?"

"Andromache will see, she will understand," Quynh insisted, her clean confident façade slipping to reveal the broken woman beneath. She stared at Nicky imploringly. "She _will_ return to me. She _will."_

"Quynh--" Nicky choked off, devolving into another violent coughing fit. He pressed a napkin to his mouth that quickly turned crimson. The now familiar cold numbness spread through his limbs with a violent shiver. This was it, he had to get out of there, had to get somewhere safe

"Get yourself together," Quynh scoffed as she tossed another napkin at him to hide the blood, her previous weakness once again behind a icy shield. "As delicious as it would be to send Yusuf to the morgue to pick you up, I'd rather not have to clean up another one of your messes."

 _Yusuf._

Nicky staggered to his feet, the world tilting around him. Quynh watched him impassively - something in her eyes that Nicky didn't have the capacity to interpret. He knocked in to several pedestrians, each breath a bloody gasp. His mind was dulling as grey crept in at the edges, only muscle memory hopefully taking him somewhere safe.

He needed to get home. He needed _Joe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kind comments and my sincere apologies in taking so long to continue this fic. 
> 
> Just over two months ago I attempted to commit suicide. I have since learned that I did have help if I had only reached for it instead of choosing to ignore the various warning signs with the perpetual "I'm fine". I am now in a much better place mentally/emotionally speaking and have been able to change my situation to hopefully avoid anything like this happening again. I share this because although I know only too well that the last thing you want is to be told what to do, I hope that anyone in a similar situation can see the help that is there for them and urge them to speak to someone, anyone, before spiralling too far.
> 
> This story has been particularly difficult for me to return to as I hadn't realised just how much I had been projecting on Nicky as refusing to seek help; and now I have a significantly better understanding of Joe's perspective as the one watching a loved one pull away. 
> 
> This being said, I am very optimistic about continuing and completing this fic thanks to my new job allowing me plenty of time to write! I am incredibly grateful for all the support and encouragement - I do hope that this has been worth the wait


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so much for your kind words and support. It may not have seemed like much to you but it meant a huge amount to me and I cannot express how grateful I am for your kindness. Thank you.

It wasn’t that often that Joe had the time or the inclination for oil painting. Across Europe, in the basements in several of their homes, there were thousands of books full of quick sketches – pencil, charcoal, whatever was easiest to source at the time. But once, in Vienna in 1785, Joe had spent months capturing the beauty of his muse.

He remembered that summer vividly. It had been almost unbearably hot and in the privacy of their villa he and Nicky had spent an inordinate amount of time naked. Joe had been entranced by the play of light and shadow across Nicky’s skin, the softness of his eyes as he entertained himself with a book as Joe sketched him. He had been overcome with the need to immortalise their peace on canvas, the season passing languidly as Joe tried to capture perfection.

Now the painting was displayed in the Galleria Doria Pamphilj, credited to an obscure artist with a plaque that insisted that the artist and subject must have been ‘very good friends’.

Joe chuckled to himself where he sat on one of the benches before the painting. He had wanted to bring Nicky here with him, to watch that delightful blush as Nicky saw his nudity on display and reminisce together of hot summers and warmer nights. But Nicky had declined, more than once, each time with excuses that Joe was finding harder and harder to stomach.

He didn’t begrudge Nicky his space; despite belief to the contrary, they were not actually attached at the hip. They each had their own interests and sought solace in their own ways. But the space between them was growing, and there were days that Joe felt that Nicky wasn’t there, even when he was right in front of Joe.

Just the night before he had slept with Nicky in his arms, pressed together in their usual embrace. Even skin to skin, Nicky’s heartbeat beneath his palm, he could tell that Nicky was a million miles away. Awake but drifting somewhere that Joe couldn’t reach.

Joe didn’t know how to help, and if he were to be honest with himself, he was struggling too. Nightmares haunted his sleep and anxiety gripped him whenever he didn’t know where Nicky was – couldn’t guarantee he was safe – an occurrence that was becoming more and more frequent. He had asked for this time for them to heal and recover _together,_ but Joe was left adrift. More alone than he had felt in a long time.

They lived in each other’s orbit, but never seemed to intersect.

The Nicky in the painting watched Joe from centuries past, and Joe sighed. It was strange to miss the person that you lived with, to pine for a memory that seemed more vivid than the real thing, and Joe was tired of it.

With one last look at the painting, Joe stood and left the gallery. He strolled easily through the streets of Rome, admiring architecture that had barely changed. Their apartment was near the aqueduct with beautiful views of the city, the doorman greeting Joe with a polite _buonasera_ as the sun was just starting to set. He took the elevator to the 4th floor, greeted their elderly neighbour, and then froze as he went to use his key.

There was blood on the doorframe.

_Nicky._

Instantly on alert, Joe carefully pushed open the door, scanning the darkened hallway for any movement. Silently he collected the handgun that they kept in the cabinet by the front door for security and settled into a ready stance.

The apartment was silent, the only light coming from the setting sun through the front windows, casting most of the space in red-hued shadows.

Another smear of blood on the dining room table, a sliding handprint. Nicky’s jacket on the floor as if he had aimed for the chair but missed.

Cold dread turned Joe’s stomach as he cleared each room, his hands starting to shake with barely controlled fear even as he fought to keep his aim steady. Flashes of worst-case scenarios ran through his head – Nicky hurt, Nicky taken, Nicky _dead._ Lifeless blue eyes demanding to know why Joe didn’t keep him safe.

The bedroom door was ajar, blood on the handle and speckled across the cream carpet. The curtains were open, creating long bars of fading light from the tall windows.

At first glance the room appeared to be empty, until Joe stepped forward and spotted Nicky’s boot poking out from the other side of the bed.

“No.” Joe exhaled, gun dropping from his hands.

He didn’t remember crossing the room or dropping to his knees. Didn’t register turning Nicky onto his back and gathering him into his arms. From one moment to the next he found himself holding Nick’s limp body across his lap. Tears streamed down Joe’s cheeks, his whole body trembling in shock and grief.

It was as if the past year and a half hadn’t happened. Like it was some fever dream that Joe had concocted in his desperation to keep Nicky alive. The apartment slipped away around him, leaving a dark van in the freezing English countryside.

Nicky, cold and still and dead in his arms. Dark blood tacky on his lips, chin, neck, staining the collar of his shirt. Skin pallid and eyes sunken in the final sleep of death.

He had never woken up, had he? Nicky had stayed still and cold in his arms, Booker giving him that guilty, sympathetic look, Andy near-catatonic in her heartache, Nile barely holding together. Nicky had died and Joe had dropped out of reality. The world too cruel for him to bear alone.

Joe _broke._

It was too much. Too painful. He sobbed, he shook, he wailed his pain and grief. Nicky was _gone._

 _“—suf? Yusuf, please, come back to me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Yusuf,_ hayati, tresoro mio, _please—”_

There was a hand on Joe’s cheek, palm strangely cool against his flushed skin, thumb gently brushing his tears.

_“…that’s it, my love, come back to me. Breathe, Yusuf, one deep breath, come on…”_

Joe’s throat and chest burned as he slowly became aware of his gasping breaths – panicked and far too fast, making his head thump from the lack of oxygen. The metal walls of the van were starting to blur like a painting in the rain, dripping down the canvas. Nicky’s soft expression, immortalised in oil fading, fading, fading

“…I’m right here, my love, look at me. I’m here, I promise. Oh Yusuf, I’m so sorry, please come back to me…”

The apartment was dark, the sun long set and everything in deep shadow. Only weak starlight lit the room, glinting in tear-filled blue-grey eyes watching Joe in concern and fear.

“Nicolo?” Joe asked hoarsely, voice wrecked.

Nicky closed his eyes in relief and dropped his head to Joe’s chest. “I’m here.”

“W-what happened? Y-you were gone. Nicolo they shot you and you weren’t waking up. It’s been too long you’re not coming back you didn’t come back—”

 _“Shhh,_ my love,” Nicky hushed, his hands on Joe’s shoulders squeezing to ground him. He was still mostly sprawled across Joe’s lap, his upper body twisted to rest against Joe’s chest. “That was over a year ago, I woke up, remember? I came back to you. We went to Booker’s cottage, and you saved me, and then the chateaux and now we are in Rome, do you remember that?”

Joe did remember, of course he did, he just wasn’t 100% sure if the memory was real. If the Nicky he held was real, breathing and alive and—

“You’re shivering, Nicolo,” Joe muttered distantly, automatically hugging Nicky closer to warm him up. It _felt_ real; the pain in his chest and the headache thumping behind his eyes, and as he embraced Nicky close, Joe gradually calmed and settled into the present. He was so confused and tired and hurting, so many questions raging in his mind, but all he could focus on was Nicky, safe and whole.

And then Nicky was pulling away, limbs heavy with exhaustion as he slumped in a seated position against the side of the bed. Stiffly, Joe mirrored him so that his back was pressed to the wall and their knees touched where their legs were crossed. 

“Yusuf, I. I need to tell you everything.”

Joe blinked slowly, taking in the blood stains and the defeated expression on Nicky’s face, and knew for certain that this was reality. 

Nicky was staring at his hands, jaw working anxiously and making the dried blood crackle in his stubble. “I should have told you when it first happened, but I was scared and stupid and selfish and oh God, what have I done? I thought it was over, we all did. And then when I realised that it wasn’t…”

“What are you talking about, Nicolo?” Joe asked apprehensively, hating the pain and guilt in Nicky’s eyes. Nicky shuddered, his fingers tracing the scars on his chest. “Please, no…”

Nicky closed his eyes. “It started getting bad a few months after the shooting. At first it was just chest pain, sometimes I got a little short of breath but then. Then I started to cough up blood. I should have told you then, but you were having the nightmares and I didn’t want to make them worse so I lied and I kept lying. I’ve lied to you so many times I didn’t know how to stop and I thought I could handle it, fix it, but it keeps getting worse and—"

“Nicolo, stop, breathe,” Joe interrupted. He fought to ignore the sudden coldness in his stomach, the simmering sting of betrayal for all the lies and excuses that he had accepted, instead clasping Nicky’s hands tightly and focusing on the warm skin beneath his fingers. Nicky dragged in a deep breath that sounded as if it tore at his throat; tears on his cheeks and furtive eyes unable to linger on Joe’s for more than a moment.

And then Nicky coughed. He attempted to suppress it but in seconds deep racking coughs ripped through him, his back arching as he curled forwards in pain. Joe flailed at first, thrown by the sudden attack, before his hands settled on Nicky’s back and started rubbing in soothing motions. Nicky’s face had flushed red as he covered his mouth with his sleeve. Choking and hacking and _no._ Joe was too far soon from his own panic attack to handle the specks of blood now staining the shirt.

“It’s okay,” Nicky gasped, seeing Joe’s expression. “I’m okay – It’s not – that bad.”

“Not that bad?!” Joe exclaimed a little hysterically. “Then what the fuck is _bad?”_

Nicky grimaced guiltily as the coughing fit finally began to subside. It took a good few minutes for him to catch his breath, and even when he did he still wheezed painfully, grey-faced and drained. The bed that he was propped against was clearly the only thing keeping him upright.

“I found out today what’s causing it,” Nicky continued tiredly, as if horrific attacks like that were a regular occurrence. And Joe realised that they were, weren’t they? All this time… “I suspected, but I couldn’t prove it, so I had to find a doctor and get a scan and. It’s the bullets.”

Joe blanched – flashes of Quynh leaning over him, gleefully gloating _I pray that you suffer as Andromache did. Let us see if you survive with her grace_.

“Well, part of them anyway,” Nicky shrugged. “There’s a fragment stuck in my chest and sometimes it moves, and when it does… It kills me. I bleed out or I asphyxiate but I figured that it was fine, I was fine, I kept coming back and I could deal with it. But then it started taking longer to wake up, and other wounds started taking longer to heal and Yusuf, I’m so scared.”

They lapsed into silence, Nicky staring intently at Joe’s knees while Joe struggled to process everything. That Quynh had managed to formulate a vengeance so cruel, so thorough, as to make Nicky suffer so. To experience such a brutal death over and over. That Nicky had felt the need to isolate himself, to lie and hide something so huge from Joe, from all of them.

“Why… why didn’t you tell me?” Joe whispered, his thoughts getting stuck on the secrecy. “Do you not trust me?”

“Of course I trust you,” Nicky choked. “But I, I was being used against our family, against _you,_ to punish you for something that wasn’t your fault. You had already suffered so much, I didn’t, I _couldn’t_ be the weapon that hurt you anymore. I thought that I could handle it, that I could fix it. But I was wrong. I didn’t want to hurt you and I ended up hurting you anyway. I’m sorry, Yusuf. I’m sorry.”

Joe sat in stunned shock for a while, his emotions a confused mess and his mind running rampant. His heart ached at the thought of Nicky facing everything alone, for feeling as if he had to, the pain and fear he must have felt. He still grieved from holding Nicky’s cold corpse, blindsided by the suddenness and seemingly permanent death. And he _raged,_ blood boiling with anger at himself that he hadn’t known, hadn’t noticed, that this was all in revenge for a decision that he had made. 

But also, a harsh sense of betrayal that he could not shake. Not since the beginning, when their relationship transitioned from begrudging friends to lovers, had they intentionally lied to each other. It took centuries to build the trust that they had in each other and it hurt that Nicky had chosen to undermine it, whatever the reason.

But with Nicky slumped before him, exhausted and hurt and broken, waiting for his judgement, Joe could only sigh. With a little manoeuvring he dropped next to Nicky, pulling him against Joe’s side and holding on tight. Nicky tucked his face in to the crook of Joe’s neck, sobbing and murmuring apologies against damp skin.

“We’re going to fix it,” Joe said firmly. The bullet fragment. Quynh. Them. “We’ll fix all of it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Joe now knows. And boy is he a mess.
> 
> I am not 100% sure/happy with Joe's reaction as to how in-character it actually is? He is such a kind-hearted, warm and supportive person so I kinda want him to be perfect and say all the right things, but at the same time, he's human - passionate, and with quite a temper. I don't want him to be 2-dimensional support character for Nicky's angst. He's dealing with his own mental/emotional trauma, and if I have learnt anything it's that emotions are unpredictable, generally make very little sense and usually present in really inconvenient ways. So yeah, Joe is traumatised, afraid, upset and pissed off. Wants to hug Nicky tight and never let go while also not really wanting to see him because flashbacks. Dichotomy. 
> 
> Updates are likely to continue being sporadic - I have the next 3 chapters written but needing serious re-writes which I am currently working on. I am hoping to have the whole fic finished around the New Year, but we shall see!


	7. Chapter 7

**Athens 2021**

Joe looked exhausted, tired and broken down even more so than he had been before he had left with Nicky for their trip. His curls were untamed and his beard a touch longer than he usually kept it. There was an air of fragility to him, in the way that his hands shook slightly, and his eyes were downcast.

Andy knew that the cause of Joe’s state was just on the other side of the door, a defeated slump to his shoulders where he waited at the dining table. Nicky looked just as worn down as Joe, though with the heaviness of guilt around him. They were supposed to have gone to Rome to put their broken pieces back together, but Andy had never seen such a distance between them. Not since the beginning.

Of course she had seen them fight – you don’t know someone for nine centuries without arguing – but this time something was different.

“Joe?” Andy said quietly, though she still managed to startle him where he was leaning against the doorframe. “What’s going on?”

“Nicky needs to explain it, to all of you. I. I can’t,” Joe’s voice warbled, as if he had been crying for a while and couldn’t quite figure out how to stop. Andy pulled him into a tight hug, cupping the back of his neck and letting Joe shake against her.

“It’s going to be alright, Joe. Whatever this is, we will find a way to fix it, we always do. It’s going to be okay.”

“I don’t see how,” Joe choked, and Andy’s heart broke at the misery in his voice. It was so unlike Joe, usually so strong, upbeat, a smile or a laugh for everyone, to be so pessimistic. “I love him so much but it _hurts._ He’s been facing it all alone and he couldn’t trust me, Andy. He’s been lying, not even in the beginning has he ever lied to me like this and I… I…”

He took a breath, short and sharp. “Quynh wanted to punish me. She couldn’t have chosen a better weapon. No one can hurt me like this.”

“Quynh?”

“What’s happening?” Nile interrupted just as Andy pulled away from Joe to look at him apprehensively. Nile raised her eyebrows in concern at Joe’s obvious distress and Andy’s wary expression.

“Whatever it is, I swear it wasn’t me this time,” Booker joked, trying to relieve the tension they had walked in on. He then grimaced as if he were revaluating all of his life choices as the three of them turned to stare at him. “Sorry, too soon.”

Nile socked him on the shoulder with an eyeroll. “But seriously, what’s going on? Who’s in trouble?”

Andy looked to Joe who had taken to admiring his shoes, surreptitiously scrubbing his face with his jumper sleeves. “Nicky. Or at least, Nicky _is_ the trouble.”

“Nicky?” both Nile and Booker asked incredulously.

Andy nodded, then opened the door to lead the way into the dining room. Nicky didn’t look up as they took their seats, instead staring at his hands folded together on the tabletop. Nile and Booker settled opposite Nicky, their expressions a mix of confused and worried, while Andy took the seat at the head of the table. Joe stayed near the door; arms folded as he leant against the wall. Booker looked between Nicky and Joe, blinking in surprise.

“So,” Andy announced in the awkward silence. “Nicky. Joe says that you have something to tell us?”

Nicky’s eyes flickered briefly to Joe and then back to his hands. “It’s not that ba—”

Joe made a choked growling noise in protest.

“Okay,” Nicky sighed tiredly, confessing to the table. “So, after England, and IYS and uh, Quynh, things may not have been as over as I lead you all to believe. Turns out, there was a fragment of one of the bullets left behind, and whatever they were made from has been stopping me from healing properly. Along with some other complications.”

“That’s why it’s been taking you so long to heal?” Nile asked, sitting up straighter and jabbing a finger at Nicky. “I knew there was something wrong with that gunshot in Berlin!”

Nicky cringed as Joe’s eyes widened and Andy wondered just how many secrets Nicky had been hiding. She tried to recall any other occasions where Nicky had been hurt, but she suddenly realised that other than Brazil he had never admitted to any injury – healed or otherwise. All of this time, a year and a half, and _none_ of them had noticed. Or at least, none of them had looked closer.

And then Nicky’s words caught up with her. “What you do you mean, ‘ _other_ _complications’_?”

“Well,” Nicky started, then stopped and turned to Joe. “Yusuf, you don’t have to stay for this.”

“Someone has to make sure you tell the whole truth.”

Nicky flinched as if he had been slapped, but didn’t try to defend himself. Joe looked surprised at his own words, frustration and fear making his temper flare. Andy gave them both a reproachful look, while Nile and Booker sat wide-eyed, as if they didn’t know what to do when mummy and daddy were fighting. There were certain constants in the universe, and Joe-and-Nicky were one of them – the two younger immortals had never seen them like this.

“Nicolo,” Andy ordered, making his eyes snap to her. “What complications?”

“The fragment,” Nicky hesitated, one hand going to the scars on his chest. “Where it is, it’s close to my heart and lung. Sometimes, if I exert myself or, well, move wrong, the fragment shifts. And I die.”

Andy, Booker and Nile stared at Nicky in stunned silence, trying to parse his words. Joe’s hands were clutching his arms tightly where they were folded across his chest and Andy recalled his panic attack in Brazil – _he keeps drowning, Andy, he’s drowning in his own blood she’s making him drown –_ Fuck, he had no idea just how right he had been, had he? Quynh had done this, caused Nicky to die again and again so that he would know her suffering. So that they _all_ could have known it – if Nicky hadn’t hidden it from them. “H-how often?”

Nicky looked to the side. “It’s not the how often that scares me. It’s the how _long_.”

Andy blinked, looking to Joe, as Nile gasped in realisation. “Your healing has slowed down, so you resurrect slower too?”

Serious injuries take longer – Joe’s record of thirty-two minutes in Vietnam evidence of that. It had terrified them all, each minute ticking past with no signs of healing. Panic, terror, grief as they feared that it was Joe’s time. But the expression on Nicky’s face said that he had put Joe’s record to shame.

“How long?” Andy asked, dreading the answer.

“At least an hour,” Nicky admitted quietly. “It was nearly two when Joe found me.”

Andy glanced over her shoulder at Joe who had his eyes squeezed tightly shut and was trembling. That explained so much. Joe had been struggling following the shooting, since Merrick first took him and Nicky for Kozak’s torture, if Andy were being honest. By Brazil he had been standing at the metaphorical edge, at the limit of how many beatings his heart could take. To then find Nicky, covered in blood and stone cold, it must have tipped him over. And then to discover that Nicky had been lying to him, broken the trust their relationship was based on…

No wonder he was so lost and confused, fear making him angry, and then the guilt of it all on top of that. Mad that Nicky had lied, upset that he had felt the need to in order to protect Joe, protect all of them. Wanting to smack Nicky upside the head for being so stupid while also wanting to just hold him tight and protect him – Andy understood that dilemma well.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Nile asked.

Nicky chewed his lip, looking to Joe but the other man wouldn’t meet his gaze. Instead he turned to Andy. “I was being used to punish you, and I couldn’t allow that to happen. I thought I could fix it on my own.”

“That doesn’t usually work out well, in my experience,” Booker muttered, offering Nicky a self-deprecating smile.

“You could have come to us,” Nile reprimanded gently. “But I get why you didn’t.”

And so did Andy. Nicky had always been a protector; the lightest sleeper, the quickest reactions, studying and perfecting his skills as a sniper so he could be their overwatch. He was kind and gentle, despite the rage that could overtake him when his family was threatened. Still carrying the guilt and paying penance for the atrocities that he was a part of in his first life. To then be used against his family, against _Joe_ , as a weapon designed to hurt them in the worst way? Andy could understand why he had tried to keep this from them.

That didn’t mean that she wasn’t mad.

Like Joe, the fact that Nicky had lied to them, over and over, hit hard. She understood _why_ , but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

But what right did she have to judge? This was Quynh’s doing, in retribution for Andy’s actions. Because she had failed Quynh, left her to suffer for so long that she had broken. Twisted from the warm soul that she remembered – her wicked sense of humour, empathy and strength – to someone willing to do monstrous things to punish her family. To tear at Joe and Nicky in revenge for Andy’s mistakes. “I’m sorry.”

“No Andy, this wasn’t your fault,” Nicky denied.

“But Quynh did this—”

“I don’t think she did,” Nicky shook his head. “At least, not on her own. She mentioned someone called Damian—”

“When?” Joe interrupted. “ _When_ did you speak to Quynh?”

“In Rome. Before you found me,” Nicky said quietly, making Joe huff a frustrated _damn it, Nicky_ under his breath. “I had found a doctor – that’s how I know about the fragment – but a sniper working with Quynh took him out. As I was leaving, Quynh stopped me. Mostly to taunt us but there was a moment. I _almost_ got her talking, but then she became confused, implied that it was ‘Damian’ that twisted her.”

Nicky shrugged. “I just… What if we have it wrong? Copley couldn’t find any connection between Merrick and IYS, and it doesn’t make sense that a big pharma company would create a weapon that they couldn’t market and sell. So, what if IYS was only involved as a patsy? This Damian could have stolen the knowledge from Merrick and sold it to IYS in order to use their resources to find Quynh?”

“It does seem more like a personal vendetta than capitalism,” Nile considered.

“So what, Quynh’s not to blame? We should just forgive her for the hell she’s put us through?” Joe asked angrily.

Andy winced sharply.

“I’m not saying that,” Nicky muttered. “I just think that there is more going on.”

“I’m more concerned that Quynh managed to find you in Rome,” Booker pointed out. “That’s twice that she has been able to track one of us down. We should move to another safehouse.”

Andy nodded. “I’ll speak to Copley and make sure that all tracks are covered in Rome and,” she paused a moment, glancing to Joe. “And to find a doctor or surgeon.”

Joe shuddered, closing his eyes before looking to Nicky, his voice sad and tired. “Was there anything else that you’ve neglected to tell us?”

“I think that’s everything.”

Joe abruptly left the room, slamming the door closed behind him hard enough to shake the windows. Nicky deflated in his seat.

“Are you guys going to be okay?” Nile asked, staring after Joe’s retreat with wide eyes.

Nicky huffed sadly. “I don’t know.”

Nile looked heartbroken at the quiet admission. She reached for Nicky’s hand across the table, but he kept them tucked away in his hoodie sleeves. Booker watched the interaction guiltily. He had always had a bitterness towards Joe and Nicky, jealous of his love and happiness when his was long gone. But it was one thing to wish ill things and quite another to witness the separation of a near-millennia long love story. It shook them all, so Andy took mercy, dismissing Booker and Nile from the table with a tilt of her head.

Nicky didn’t seem to register them leaving, startling when Andy moved closer to perch on the edge of the table beside him. “He’ll come around,” she reassured, squeezing Nicky’s arm. “He’s just scared, that’s all.”

Nicky scoffed. “I betrayed him and lied to him over and over again. It doesn’t matter _why,_ Andy. He can’t trust me anymore. And I don’t blame him.”

“He _loves_ you, Nicky,” Andy emphasised with a pinch to his arm. “Nothing will ever change that. He has forgiven you far worse sins.”

“Not like this,” Nicky shook his head, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I tried so hard not to hurt you all. But Quynh was right. I could not have hurt Yusuf any worse, and it was all my doing.”

Andy pulled Nicky into a hug, his forehead to her thigh as she carded her fingers through his hair. “No, Nicky, this was not your fault. And it isn’t Joe’s either. All that matters is that it is not too late. We will get you fixed up, and we will help Joe heal, and we are going to handle this together. As a family.”

Nicky looked up. “You haven’t called us that for over five hundred years.”

“And that was my mistake,” Andy conceded. “But it never stopped being true.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks guys! I really appreciate your comments regarding Joe - I'm glad I seem to have got it right! He is currently in the 'anger' stage, but next chapter we'll see more - see you soon!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I figured I'd put my two-cents in and do my version of how Joe & Nicky met. 
> 
> Just a quick disclaimer - I am a lapsed Catholic/Atheist, which is one of many reasons why I don't write about religion - however it factors fairly heavily in Joe & Nicky's background what with the Crusades being a religious war. I have kept it very vague and mean absolutely no offence to any religion. If any is taken, please let me know and I shall do my best to adjust.
> 
> Also, my entire history knowledge is taken entirely from Horrible Histories as the UK school system is crud.

The warehouse was one of many nondescript shacks near the docks, the metal jungle abandoned in the early hours of the morning. The weather was damp and chilled despite the early summer, making their breath fog where they waited just outside of the door.

Booker burrowed a little deeper into his jacket, fingers itching for a cigarette despite having quit the habit decades ago. Andy stood stoic and alert, stance deceptively casual as her hand rested on the 9mm at her hip. Nick stood between them, pale and shaking slightly in spite of the hoodie he was buried in. It might have been one of Joe’s, judging by the paint splatters on the sleeves, but to be honest their wardrobes had been merged for centuries.

Copley was due to arrive soon, the surgeon that he had sourced and vetted (doubly so by Booker and Nile) trussed and blindfolded in the back seat. A clean room had already been set up in the warehouse to the doc’s specifications. It all looked fairly terrifying with the polythene sheets and sharp implements – more like a serial killer’s playground than a surgical theatre.

But at least it wasn’t a kitchen table in the middle of the English countryside with nothing but a tactical knife.

 _Joe should be here,_ Booker couldn’t help but think bitterly. He didn’t understand why he wasn’t. But it was Nicky’s choice, and Andy had agreed and Joe had accepted; the argument heated but brief. Now Joe was at the safehouse waiting, Nile serving as his distraction and babysitter.

“He’s seen enough,” was all Nicky had said when Booker asked. “I won’t make him watch anymore.”

And not knowing was somehow supposed to be better? What if, god forbid, the worst happened, and Joe wasn’t there? How was he supposed to survive however-many centuries on his own with that guilt? Booker knew how heavy that was to carry, and despite past mistakes, he wouldn’t actually wish it on Joe to experience.

Joe had barely been able to see them off, hugging Nicky tightly and sharing whispered words, but there was still such a distance between them that neither seemed able to cross.

A voice that sounded suspiciously like Quynh whispered in Booker’s mind, taunting him with his mistakes - _this is what you wanted, isn’t it?_ _To hurt them? To punish them for their happiness? Why else was it them that you had served up to Merrick first?_ Booker tried to shake the memory, the ghost of Quynh real and smirking at him in his apartment, spitting venomous words about his brothers. Words that he had thought himself, bitter and drunk for two hundred years. But when faced with another hundred years _truly_ on his own, he had realized just how wrong he had been. (He had had doubts before then. Before Sudan even. But he was in too deep, too lost in his own misery). To hear the words from Quynh, spoken back to him… He really was fucked up, wasn’t he?

You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone; and Booker was just grateful that he had been given the second chance that he knew he didn’t deserve.

Tires crunched on gravel as Copley’s SUV pulled up to the warehouse, Andy going to meet them with gun in hand. Booker stayed back with Nicky, keeping an eye on Andy and Copley and the doc as the hood was pulled off.

“Book,” Nicky said quietly. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Don’t,” Booker warned. “Everything is going to be fine, we will get you fixed up. And even if… I will _not_ be the one to break Joe’s heart if you go and die on us. Which _won’t_ happen.”

“I might not have a choice on that,” Nicky muttered as he rubbed absently at the palm of his hand still hidden in his sleeve. “There was something else Quynh said. Just theoretical, it’s not like anyone really knows what the bullets do long term to immortals. But the metal poisons the blood and slows down the healing so, theoretically, given enough time, they could mess with the not-aging too. Maybe even take away the immortality all together.”

Booker blinked, trying to process. “What? Why the hell didn’t you tell us?”

Nicky shrugged. “It was just a theory.”

_“’Was’?”_

With a sigh, Nicky tugged back one of his sleeves to reveal his hand – and the blood-stained bandage wrapped around it. He picked at the tape and unwound it, before holding out his hand for Booker to take. A long gash ran along his palm, scabbing over like their wounds rarely had the chance to get. “I did that before we left.”

Booker froze. “Before we… Fuck! Nicky, that was over three hours ago!”

“I know,” Nicky admitted, taking his hand back and hiding it in his pocket. “It’s never taken this long before. I. I think I’m mortal.”

Booker cussed in French. And then Dutch. And then Swahili just for the hell of it.

“The chances of me surviving the surgery are… low,” Nicky continued, voice distant. “If I tell Andy, she won’t let the surgery go ahead. She’ll try and find another way, but I can’t keep living like this, Book. I can’t go back to Joe knowing that I could drop dead any moment. I won’t put him through that – it will break him. So I’m doing this. I’d rather the chance to live whatever time that I’ve got free from this damn curse. I just. I just needed someone to know my last secret.”

Booker didn’t know whether to be honored that Nicky would trust him, after everything, or pissed off to be chosen as the bearer of bad news. He wanted to shake Nicky by the shoulders to get rid of this notion he had developed that he had to deal with this shit alone – but he suspected that might be seen as rather hypocritical of him.

“Please tell me that you at least told Joe,” Booker asked, eyes closed so that he wouldn’t see Nicky’s inevitably guilty expression.

“I’ve done enough damage,” Nicky answered. “I just don’t want to hurt anyone anymore.”

 _You might not have a choice on that either,_ Booker thought as he watched Andy intimidate the doc. Copley stood well back, expression somewhere between fear and awe. She was likely threatening various parts of the guy’s anatomy if anything were to go wrong. “What did you say to Joe, before we left?”

“That I loved him. And that I would do everything I could to keep our promise.”

Booker nodded. “You’d better not die on us then.”

Sufficiently terrified, Andy allowed the doc to approach the warehouse, Copley leading with Andy glaring daggers at his back.

“Shall we do this?”

* * *

Nile was making tea.

She wasn’t entirely sure why, and couldn’t recall making the decision to do so, but as if on autopilot she had ended up pouring two mugs of chamomile. She strongly suspected that they would end up being left to go cold and congealed, but it gave her something to do with her hands and stopped her from hovering awkwardly over Joe for five minutes.

Speaking of, she collected the mugs and headed back to the front room. Joe sat straight-backed on the edge of the sofa cushion, seemingly doing his best impression of a statue. He didn’t react as Nile took the seat next to him, placing their mugs on the coffee table.

“You think I’m being selfish, don’t you?”

Nile jerked in surprise at the question. “What? No! Joe, why would you even think that?”

“I should be there, with him,” Joe continued as if he hadn’t heard her, staring at his hands clasped over his knees, breathing in short, panicked gasps. “He must be terrified, and alone, and I’m just sitting here helpless and useless and—”

“Joe, stop,” Nile pleaded as she threw an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. Joe was shaking under her hands, tears starting to drip down his cheeks as he spiraled quickly into a panic attack. Nile tried to coach him through it, denying every self-flagellating claim Joe hissed between sobs. “Stop it, Joe, please. Just breathe for me, okay? Just one breath.”

It took a while, but eventually Joe managed to do as he was told, eyes tightly shut as he took a single forcefully managed breath, his exhale a litany of broken apologies. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

“That’s enough,” Nile said, trying to put some command into her tone to mask the concern and fear. She had never seen Joe like this – so broken she could barely hold together the shattered pieces. “None of this is your fault, okay? You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I couldn’t lose him, Nile,” Joe muttered brokenly, eyes far-off and bright with tears. “I watched the storm rip him away from me and I couldn’t find him and I thought that we had lost him too to the sea. It took years to find him again and just the thought of going out to sea, to keep searching, of losing him too… I was selfish, I was so selfish. I made Andy stop looking, I abandoned Quynh. She hurt Nicolo because of me. Don’t you see? _It’s_ _all my fault_. And the worst part? If I could go back? I would make the _same_ decision. _I can’t lose him_.”

Nile hugged Joe closer, pressing her forehead to his temple. “It is not selfish to love someone, Joe.”

“It is when all you do is cause them pain,” Joe said mournfully. “It is when they are made to suffer alone for your mistakes.”

“That’s not true!” Nile denied vehemently. “Nicky didn’t do what he did because you love him, it was because _he_ loves _you._ You have been together over nine-hundred years, surely that he would try to protect you like this isn’t a surprise?”

Joe scoffed a tearful laugh. “No. Not a surprise. He has always been this way. But that he felt that he had to face it alone, that _I_ made him believe that he _had_ to—"

“You need to stop blaming yourself, Joe,” Nile said softly, hand rubbing circles on Joe’s back. “I know that’s hard, so I’m going to keep repeating this until you believe it too. _None_ of this was your fault. It is not your fault, or Nicky’s fault or Andy’s fault. And if Nicky is right, it might not be entirely Quynh’s fault either. A lot of shit has happened in such a short time. You can’t point to one choice you made, out of _love_ for someone, five centuries ago, and blame every bad thing on it.”

Nile sighed. “Andy chose to keep living, you chose to keep Nicky safe, and Nicky chose to protect you from a punishment that you don’t deserve. There’s nothing wrong with any of that.” 

Joe fell quiet, folding forward to rest his elbows on his knees and staring pensively at the carpet. Nile kept up the soothing motions trying to offer him whatever comfort that she could. The only sounds were the muffled city noises from the nightlife below the apartment and Joe’s still a-touch-too-fast breathing. They stayed like that for a while, the room growing darker and colder as the late night became early morning. 

“We weren’t always together.”

“I’m sorry?” Nile paused where she was reaching for a blanket to wrap around them. She almost thought that she had imagined Joe speaking as he continued to stare stonily at the floor.

“Nicky and I, we weren’t always together.”

Nile hummed, reaching again for the blanket and draping it over Joe’s shoulders, rubbing the fabric as he shivered. “Are you going to tell me the romantic story of how you two fell in love?”

Joe scoffed. “It is not a romantic story.”

“Can you tell it to me anyway?” Nile asked gently. She didn’t want to push, but she hoped that it might encourage him to think of something else and distract Joe for a little while. “I feel like I know who you and Nicky are now, but I imagine that you were different people back then.”

“We were,” Joe agreed. He seemed to notice the blanket for the first time and lifted an edge to invite Nile under to share the warmth. She gratefully huddled under his arm, tucking against his side as he finally leaned back against the sofa; almost relaxed, if only she couldn’t feel the rigidity of his tensed muscles beneath her. “It was a different world back then too. Did we ever tell you about our first lives?”

Nile shook her head, snuggling closer. “Just that you met in the Crusades, on opposite sides.”

Joe smiled, a touch of fondness underlined with pain. “Nicky grew up in a village on the outskirts of Genoa, just outside of the city proper. He was one of seven children, third oldest and the second-born son. His mother was a seamstress, and his father was the village blacksmith. He and his brothers were training to take over the family business until Nicky was um, _encouraged_ , shall we say, to join the church.”

“Encouraged?” Nile asked with a raised eyebrow.

“He was caught kissing the baker’s son,” Joe explained with a chuckle, before his expression darkened. “Nicolo was a devout Catholic, everyone he knew was, and he still believes in some ways now. But he was taught to believe many false things, about God’s will and about himself. He believed them when he was told that he was wrong to be the way he was. That was one of the reasons why he joined the Crusades – as penance for his sins. To fight and die in God’s name and take back the Holy Lands, in order to become worthy in His eyes.”

“And you?”

Joe sighed. “I am from a merchant family, trading silks, spices and textiles across the Middle East and Europe. I was born in the Maghreb with my three younger sisters, and once I took over the business I settled in Tunisia with my wife and two daughters.”

Nile choked in surprise. “You were married?! With children?”

“Yes,” Joe huffed a laugh at Nile’s stunned expression. “My wife Safiya and I grew up together. It was an arranged marriage, but that is not to say that I did not love her. We were very happy together and she was an intelligent and beautiful woman. The strength and grace that my daughters inherited were entirely from her. We had heard of the war in Jerusalem, but I did not go at first. I could fight, my father had taught me, but that was only to fend off bandits and thieves. I was no warrior, and I was afraid that if I went, I would not be strong enough to survive and return to my family.

“One day, they were calling for swords to join the defense, describing the dirty Frank invaders that were slaughtering our kinsmen and were close to breaching Jerusalem’s walls. I was so angered by what they told us, and when I returned home that evening, Safiya took one look at me and asked me when I would be leaving for the war. I had been worried how she would survive without me. I should have known that it was always her supporting me.”

“She sounds like an amazing person,” Nile said warmly.

“She was,” Joe agreed. “Then comes the part you know. Nicky and I both went to war and met on opposite sides. There was nothing profound about our first deaths – in the chaos I hadn’t even realized that I had died, and Nicky was gone when I woke up. It wasn’t until we crossed swords again and we recognized each other that we began to question things. We fought each other many times – Nicky was certain that I was some demon that he had to slay to prove himself. It was definitely not love at first sight.”

Joe drifted off, lost in old memories before blinking. “After a while we both began to grow tired, but Nicolo wouldn’t stop. He had come to Jerusalem to die, and he couldn’t. He had been so twisted that he figured that this was his punishment – an impossible task set for him, and that he would be shunned from heaven forever.

“And then the Christians succeeded. They flooded over the walls and swarmed the city like a plague. You have seen the scars of war – this was a raw, bloody wound. Even after weeks of fighting, I had never seen anything like it. The atrocities that those supposedly holy men committed in the name of God… it was a monstrous slaughter…”

Joe’s breath shuddered, tears once again gathering in his eyes as the traumatic memories took over. Nile pinched her thigh to keep her own thoughts from drifting – the dry heat of the desert against her skin, the weight of her pack on her shoulders. Scorched and empty towns and the haunted look in the eyes of the children that she met. She cleared her throat, the sudden noise making Joe jump. “What happened next?”

“I heard a scream,” Joe continued, taking a deep breath to center himself. “I was shell-shocked by what I was witnessing, but that scream somehow cut through the horror. I followed it – nearly ran straight into the woman as she ran the other way, holding her ripped clothes around herself. She was crying and terrified and it made me so _angry_ – I kept seeing my sisters, my wife, my daughters, in her place – and the _rage,_ it took over. I took my blade, ready to kill each and every one of the men who had dared to touch her, but when I got to the alley, they were already dead.

“And there was Nicolo. He was kneeling on the ground, bloody sword across his lap and the corpses of his fellow soldiers littered around him. He looked at me with such shame and guilt and sorrow. We didn’t speak the same language, but I recognized the apology in his tone. It was the first time that we had faced each other and not raised our swords.”

“And then you left together?”

“No,” Joe answered with a sigh. “It had been a year since I had left my family, and all I wanted was to go home. After everything that had happened, all that I had seen and done, and the confusion of what I had become… I wanted my life from before back. So, I left Jerusalem and Nicolo, ignored the strange dreams of Andy and Quynh, and went back home.”

Nile thought back to Booker’s broken retelling of his return to his family, the life that he had tried to fit back in to, and the pain that his wife and sons had gone through as they aged and Booker was frozen in time. And then there were Andy’s warnings not to contact her family – but Joe and Nicky had both been quiet on the issue, hadn’t they? “What happened?”

“At first? Everything was fine,” Joe shrugged. “I returned to my wife and daughters, went back to work, settled into my life as if I had never left. After a while I had managed to convince myself that the healing and the resurrections were Allah’s blessing while I defended the holy land – at one point I was certain that it was all a trauma-induced hallucination. But it had never occurred to me that the not-dying would come with the not-aging.

“I was thirty-three when I left, nearly thirty-five when I returned. It seemed in a blink my little girls were grown and married, expecting children of their own. And then the comments started. How I hadn’t aged a day. The youngest-looking grandpa they had ever seen. I was forty-nine and still looked the same as I had before the war. The jokes started to become more confused and suspicious and I realised that it _had_ all been real – and I was running out of time.”

“What did you do?” Nile asked curiously.

“I told Safiya the truth, as much of it as I knew.”

She flinched back. “But I thought—Booker, Andy—"

“Not everyone reacts the same way,” Joe said softly. “And Safiya, she really was an amazing person. I was lucky to call her mine for as long as I did. After I told her, she disappeared for a few days and I feared that I had driven her away. But when she returned, she had a plan. She was old, and starting to become frail, but her mind was as sharp as ever. She knew that I would never leave her to fend for herself alone. She also knew just how dangerous a secret like mine could be for all of our family. So she had planned my death.

“It was a lot easier to fake your death back then. I simply ‘disappeared’ while on a business trip, only returning to my home in darkness of the night. We created a small room for me to hide in if anyone came to the house, and I never went outside during the day. There was a funeral for me, and I watched through a hole in the wall as my daughters, my grandchildren, said goodbye. They never knew about me, but I was able to give them closure, and I got to watch them grow through the stories Safiya would tell me.”

“So, you were able to live your life? Be with your family?” Nile asked, unable to help the bitterness that crept into her voice. She had only been able to give her family a KIA notification – no answers, not even a story fabricated to give them some closure as to how she had died. She had thought it was for the best at the time, but what if she had gone back? Her mom would have accepted her, wouldn’t she? “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Joe turned slightly, meeting her eyes for the first time since the others had left. “Because Nile, of every person one of us has told, or found out about us, Safiya was the only one who didn’t turn against us. The only one who accepted our secret. Who didn’t hate us for a gift we can’t share, or hurt us trying to figure it out, or sold us out to someone to torture us.”

“My mom wouldn’t—”

“Nicky’s did,” Joe interrupted. “He returned home after Jerusalem too. He had gone to war with his brothers, and of the three of them he was the only one to return. At first this was seen as a miracle – God’s will that he be given a second chance. But then there was a fire.

“Most of the street was in flames and the fire was out of control. There was a little boy trapped in one of the houses. Without hesitation, Nicky walked into that building. He burned and he choked on the smoke, and he saved that little boy’s life. But when he stood before his family, his village – people who had known him his entire life – clothes burned, hair singed off and skin black with soot, he was labelled a demon. They sentenced him to death, and they kept trying and trying to make it stick. His own mother lit the pyre. His father forged the axe that beheaded him. They made him believe that he _deserved_ it.”

Nile covered her mouth in horror, picturing kind and quiet Nicky being tortured by his family – the rage and fear he would have seen in their eyes – her own mother staring at her with that same confused anger.

“I know that things are different now, that the world is different,” Joe said quietly, taking hold of her hand. “But it is also more dangerous. You saw what happened with Copley and Merrick, what happened when they found out our secret. What if you told your mom or your brother, and they told someone else – even by accident. I was lucky, I _know_ how lucky I was. But Nile, I didn’t know or understand the risk. I didn’t know who I was endangering when I told Safiya. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Nile stared down at where their hands were joined, working through what she had learned. Would knowing have changed her decision? Would she have gone to her family if Joe had given her that glimmer of hope when Andy and Booker had only their own heartbreak to advise her? But then she thought of Merrick’s; Booker, Andy, Nicky and Joe trapped and imprisoned, their worst nightmare come true. Would she have chosen to put them at risk again if she had known? Nile swallowed thickly, “You haven’t told me how you and Nicky actually got together.”

Joe chuckled wetly, gripping her hand a little tighter. “It started with my funeral, though I didn’t know that at the time. Five years later, we had a visitor. I hid while my wife answered the door, and I heard a voice that I hadn’t heard in twenty-four years. Nicolo di Genova was standing on my doorstep, asking Safiya in horribly accented Arabic where I was.”

“He found you? How? He wouldn’t have had the dreams to follow?”

“He didn’t need the dreams,” Joe said fondly. “He had stayed in Jerusalem for a little while after I had left, doing what he could to help. Somehow, he managed to find out my name and that I was a merchant before he was forced to leave the city. He went home, and left again, and then he started looking for me. He didn’t have a lot of choice – neither of us understood the dreams and I was the only person he knew for certain had the same affliction. It took him a while, but eventually he found one of my trading partners, who informed him of my death and directed him to my home to pay his respects.”

“And then?” Nile prompted.

“Well, then Safiya took pity on the poor, unfortunate Frank that had ended up on her doorstep and invited Nicky in for tea,” Joe huffed in disbelief even at the old memory. “It was surreal, watching the man who had killed me multiple times having a polite conversation with my wife. At first I was terrified that he was going to hurt her to take vengeance against me or something, but they just… chatted. Safiya instantly liked him, inviting him to move in as he had nowhere else to go – all the while I was crammed in the small bolthole listening to every word.” 

“She adopted Nicky?”

“Essentially,” Joe laughed. “I came out of my hiding place and explained that Nicky was like me, and we fell into this strange routine. I was still presumed dead, but no one knew who Nicky was. As Safiya grew older, he became the one who would go to the market and do odd jobs when we were short of money. We became roommates, then friends, and then. Then Safiya passed away.”

Nile hugged him close. “I’m so sorry, Joe.”

Joe nodded, tears gathering – the memory still as raw and painful as it had always been. “The day before, we all knew that it was coming. She couldn’t get out of bed and she refused to eat. She asked to speak with us individually. Safiya took my hand, hers wrinkled and calloused against mine, and told me that she loved me. That she would, always and forever – but her forever would be a lot shorter than mine. She said that she was happy that I wouldn’t be alone, and to not let her memory stop me from finding happiness again. I think that she knew what we would become to each other. I think she knew the moment that she saw Nicolo at our front door.”

Joe squeezed his eyes shut, the tears dripping down his cheeks. “Nicky has never told me what she said to him, and I have never told him what she told me – it was the only secret that we ever kept from each other… until…”

Nile held Joe tightly, forcing a smile and a brighter tone, “I think I can imagine what came next – an adventurous road trip across the continent full of unresolved sexual tension until Andy showed up on a giant horse and bashed your heads together.”

Joe huffed distantly. “Something like that.”

They fell into silence, curled together on the sofa until Joe slipped into the fitful sleep of the exhausted not long after dawn. Nile gently escaped and covered him with the blanket before collecting up the mugs that had been ignored as predicted. She watched Joe for a moment, face splotchy from crying and hands reaching unconsciously for a body that wasn’t there. Quietly, she padded in to the kitchen on socked feet, discarding the forgotten tea. She braced herself against the sink trying not to cry from the onslaught of emotions.

She couldn’t imagine a love like Joe and Nicky’s. To have been together so long that it was almost as if they were one entity. To live with the fear that despite their promises there was no way to control how it would end. One of them would go first, the other to be left unable to follow for the unknowable future. 

Nile could only pray that whatever force – be it her God, destiny or random chance – that had both cursed and blessed them would have the mercy not to part them.

Though it did beg the question, didn’t it? Why of the seven immortals chosen had Joe and Nicky been borne together? Andy was thousands of years old, perhaps five millennia older than Joe and Nicky. It was centuries before she found Quynh and Lykon (losing Lykon so young…). Eight hundred years before Booker, 200 more until Nile. And yet a merchant and a priest were chosen from the same war to join the ranks of the immortal warriors.

But perhaps Nile shouldn’t follow her curiosity, trying to fathom impossible secrets. As Booker said, that way madness lies.

The mid-morning sun was blinding her through window before Nile realized how much time had passed. She checked her phone, concerned by the lack messages from the others. The surgery should be over by now, surely?

Nile found herself dialing Booker’s number as worry and anxiety gripped her – her eyes darting to Joe restlessly sleeping on the couch. Seemingly a hundred rings and an anonymous voice mail inbox later, Nile tried Andy, chewing her nails to the quick.

“ _Nile_ ,” Andy said as the call connected, though it sounded as if she was telling someone else who was on the phone rather than greeting her. A male voice murmured something Nile couldn’t quite catch, probably Booker, and Andy sighed. “ _Hey. How’s Joe?”_

“Uh, fine, I guess,” Nile replied, then shook her head. “Well no, he’s not fine at all, but I managed to get him to talk for a while and now he’s sleeping. Or passed out. I’m not really sure.”

“ _Good_ ,” Andy replied blankly. _“That’s good.”_

“Andy?” Nile gripped the phone tight enough to make the plastic case creak beneath her fingers. “Andy, how’s Nicky?”

The sound that Andy makes is like nothing Nile has ever heard from her before.

“ _He. He’s—The surgery. The fragment has been removed.”_

Nile’s stomach dropped, her body turning cold as the line stayed silent for nearly a full minute, nothing but heavy breathing. “Andy, are you still there? That means that the surgery was a success, right?”

“ _There was a_ complication,” Andy spat the word. _“Nicky, he. He bled out. He’s dead Nile.”_

Nile felt as if she had been sucker punched in the stomach. Tears prickled in her eyes. “But, he’ll wake up, right? He said that his healing and reviving had been slow so maybe—”

 _“It’s been nearly four hours,”_ Andy said quietly, voice choked with her own tears. Nile heard her sob, somewhat muffled by her own hand and the phone. _“I don’t think he’s coming back this time.”_

Nile sank to the floor, strength gone from her legs. She could barely feel the cold tile through her jeans. She buried her face against her knees, pulling at her braids as she shook with tears. She tried so hard to keep quiet, not wanting to wake Joe.

“Joe,” Nile gasped. “W-what do I d-do?”

 _“Let him sleep,”_ Andy said sadly. _“We’ll wait for Nicky. And if. I’ll be the one to tell him.”_

How could she possibly tell Joe that Nicky was gone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna leave this here...


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so very much for the lovely comments. I am very sorry *gleeful giggling* for the cliffhanger... Please forgive me with this lovely quick update.
> 
> Please enjoy this rollercoaster!

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

The words were sincere, but edged with wariness, the doc keeping a safe distance away from her. He was still wearing his surgical smock, splattered with blood. Nicky’s blood. Andy knew she that should feel angry, had promised to castrate the man if anything were to go wrong, but she was just numb.

Nicky was gone.

Copley cleared his throat. “What happened?”

“There were some… complications,” the doc replied. “The shrapnel was too close to his heart, there was no way to remove it without severing several blood vessels. I couldn’t stop the bleeding. I am sorry.”

After a moment of heavy silence, Copley nodded at the doc who stepped back towards the door, and then turned to Andy. “I’ll take care of him. I am sorry about Nicky.”

“He’ll wake up,” Andy said firmly. Hoped, prayed.

“Of course,” Copley agreed, though Andy could tell from his expression that he doubted it. It had been thirty minutes since Nicky’s heart had stopped, the doc attempting resuscitation with no luck. Andy had insisted that he finish – that he removed the bullet from his body, the doc acquiescing with a mournful look. Copley had only seen them heal quickly, a few minutes at most. Andy wasn’t surprised that he had lost hope. But she _knew_ that Nicky would wake up. He wouldn’t do this to her. “Well, um. I’ll take the doc… call me if you need me. For anything.”

Andy gave a non-committal grunt, waiting for Copley and the doc to leave before she took a deep breath and approached the table.

She stopped beside the trolley of stained instruments, her eyes catching on a kidney dish with the small black shard of the bullet fragment. It was small, a couple of centimetres long at most, jagged like a crystal chipped from stone. And it had been inside Nicky, nestled against his heart, killing him and poisoning him for over a year and a half.

Steeling herself, Andy turned to face Nicky. Too often she had seen him dead, but there was something about seeing him then that hit deep. He was still and waxen, eyes sunken and lips white. She had watched the doc close him up after, knew that underneath the sheet his chest was a mess of blood and black stitches. He was her little brother. For nearly a millennia she watched over him, taught him all she could. As she was slowly eroded away, she had watched him refuse to let time take away his hope, his faith, his kindness. And now, just as Lykon had left her…

_It’s time._

There was a rhythmic buzzing sound that she ignored, lost in her own memories. Then a few moments later she felt her pocket vibrate. On autopilot she picked up her phone, glancing at the caller ID. “Nile.”

“She’s with Joe.”

 _Fuck, Joe_. Andy blinked, struggling to make herself present. “Hey. How’s Joe?”

Nile sounded worried, her voice a little watery. She said… something. About Joe sleeping. That was good. He hadn’t been sleeping well for quite a while, Andy was glad that he could get some rest.

 _“Andy?”_ Nile called, grabbing her wandering attention. _“Andy, how’s Nicky?”_

 _Dead_. Andy choked. Greif gripped her tight, squeezing her throat shut as tears threatened. But she couldn’t break yet, she couldn’t. Nile was waiting for news, Joe was in limbo. She needed, _fuck,_ she needed to get her shit together. “He,” she tried, stopped, swallowed. “He’s—the surgery.” Andy dragged her eyes away from the sheet and ended up looking back at the shrapnel. “The fragment has been removed.”

That was important. Even as the blood slowed and the monitor gave that final long tone, getting that evil crap out of him had been important. It was what was slowing his healing. It was what was taking him away from them. But it was out now.

 _"Andy? Are you still there?”_ Nile asked. She sounded so scared, but still clinging on to hope. _“That means the surgery was a success, right?”_

Yes, a success. The doc standing before her in his bloodied smock, giving her his condolences with a side of excuses. “There was a _complication,”_ Andy hissed – and there was that rage she had been missing. But it was gone just as quick as it had sparked as she looked at her watch. Too many hours had passed and Nicky was still so cold and still before her. “Nicky, he. He bled out,” she stammered. “He’s dead, Nile.”

Nile gasped over the line, her concern drenched in desperation. _“But he’ll wake up, right? He said that his healing and reviving was slow so maybe—”_

“It’s been nearly four hours,” Andy said quietly, tears beginning to fall as the full weight of everything hit her. She covered her mouth to try and stop them, to keep herself together. And then she finally admitted the truth that she couldn’t avoid. “I don’t think he’s coming back this time.”

She heard Nile break down, a pained whine escaping her as she cried. Andy wanted to join her, to give voice to the agony that she felt, but she tried to hold it together, to be strong as their youngest fell apart. But then Nile wheezed, her words stuttering over each other. “Joe! W-what do I d-do?”

Andy closed her eyes. “Let him sleep,” she instructed. “We’ll wait for Nicky. And if.”

_If Nicky didn’t wake up. If he was gone, gone, gone. If Joe was the one left alone, a ghost of himself without the other half of his soul._

“I’ll be the one to tell him.”

With the last of her strength, she calmly disconnected the call and placed her phone on the trolley. Beside the kidney dish. Then she looked back to Nicky, silent as the grave.

Andy sobbed. An ugly broken sound ripped from her throat and she fell forward to prop herself on the edge of the table. Her shoulders shook as the tears followed, dripping onto the sheet.

She didn’t know how long she cried for, an hour, maybe more. The tears eventually ran out, leaving her gasping for breath, her eyes itchy and sore and a headache thumping at her temples. She ended up collapsed on the floor, slumped against the table leg.

“Andy.”

Booker. Fuck, she had forgotten that he was there, he had been so quiet. He had been next to the table for the whole surgery, half assistant, half gargoyle. How long had it been now? Too long. She didn’t want to hear Booker say what she had been fearing.

“Andy,” Booker called again, something weird in his voice. Through the fog that had clouded her mind it took her precious seconds to identify the tone as _hopeful_. A zing of excitement ran through her, helping her heavy limbs to move, to get her standing, turning—

Nicky was still gone.

Andy hated Booker a little just then.

“Look,” he said, eyes wide as he lifted Nicky’s hand, palm up for her to see. There was dried blood crackled in the creases of his skin, but nothing else. No movement, no pulse… “It’s healed!”

“What?” she asked, voice hoarse and defeated. “What’s healed?”

“The cut,” Booker said, as if that explained everything, but Andy was just confused. “Before the surgery, her showed me his hand, told me he had cut it before we left. It was still bleeding, and he thought…. It doesn’t matter, Andy – it’s gone!”

Andy didn’t understand, her mind still muddled, but the excitement in Booker’s tone made her lean forward. Gently she pulled down the sheet covering Nicky’s chest, flinching at the stitches puckering his skin. Booker met her eyes briefly, nodding his encouragement. She lay a tentative hand on Nicky’s chest.

Still cold. Still, practically stiff like ice. But there was _something_.

She pressed a little harder, and _there_.

A heartbeat.

* * *

Awareness came with the slow beat of his heart. It was uncomfortably painful, as if the muscle were solid stone and moving under great force. Nicky slipped in and out, nothing but darkness and the thump in his chest. His lungs were stopped, depriving him of oxygen as his heart valiantly fought on.

Sometime later, he finally managed to draw breath. Just a shallow whisper of air as his ribs refused to expand, keeping him swimming in the depths of unconsciousness.

Gradually, his senses also awakened. He was cold, colder than the Russian winter that they had rescued Booker from, and he was lying on something uncomfortable. He could smell dirty seawater from the nearby dock beneath the tang of antiseptic. His ears were ringing, hissing static with sound just starting to break through.

His eyes remained stubbornly closed.

“He’s not waking up,” Andy’s voice filtered through, and Nicky could sense her hovering to his right. Her voice sounded wrong, wrecked as if she had been crying. He wanted to reach for her, but found that he couldn’t move. _Anything_. Not his hand, not his toes, he couldn’t do a damn thing. He was trapped. Paralysed.

“He’s got a pulse and he’s breathing,” Booker replied. His arm coming to rest across Nicky’s stomach, presumably to reach for Andy’s hand to comfort her. Booker’s other hand was holding Nicky’s, his thumb brushing across the cut on his palm. Or at least, where Nicky remembered the cut used to be. “He was gone over five hours, it will take him a while to uh, loosen up.”

 _Oh_. Rigor mortis.

_Five hours._

“You need to call Nile back,” Booker said, and if Nicky wasn’t already rigid as a statue he would have tensed up at that. _Joe._ If it had been that long, had they already told Joe that he was dead? Did Joe think that he was gone… Would he ever stop hurting the man he loved? “Before Joe wakes up and finds her and draws his own conclusion.”

_Thank God._

Andy made an affirmative grunt, her hand fluttering near Nicky’s cheek before her footsteps receded. Booker sighed and slumped back, still clinging to Nicky’s hand. His skin was starting to warm under the touch. “I don’t know if you can hear me, or if you’re even awake, but if you are, please know that I am really mad at you,” Booker muttered into the quiet, Andy’s voice a distant murmur as she spoke on the phone. He didn’t sound all that mad, just tired, but Nicky understood the sentiment. “You scared the shit out of us, you bastard.”

The sharp tingle of returning circulation made Nicky’s finger twitch. Booker immediately sat up, squeezing back. “Nicky?”

“He’s awake?” Andy came back.

“I think so, but he’s still stuck.”

“Fucking hell.”

 _Yes, Andy, that about sums it up_ , Nicky thought sardonically as he tried not to panic, conscious and trapped in a body healing from the early stages of rigor. It was terrifying to have so little control over his own person, defenceless. His mind couldn’t help but flashback to the lab, tied down and helpless as he watched Joe suffer beside him. He tried his best not to think about it, but then his mind drifted to Joe instead, and a different kind of pain stabbed his chest. Yes, he was alive, the shrapnel was gone (it was gone, wasn’t it?) but after everything that he had done… had he lost Joe anyway?

“How’s Nile?” Booker asked.

“A mess,” Andy said, as if it wasn’t obvious from her hoarse voice that she was just as much of a mess too. She was trying to put her fierce leader persona back in place, even though no one would judge her. “Joe was still asleep thankfully, but he woke up when I called. I told him that the surgery was a success, but it would be a while before we would be there.”

“No details?”

“He doesn’t need them yet,” Andy answered. Nicky would have sighed in relief, but he was only just able to take normal breaths. At least Joe could be spared from having to watch and wait the hours that it had taken Nicky to revive. This time, at least. Hopefully, he would never have to know. Andy’s fingers tangled in Nicky’s hair. “He’s warming up.”

“It shouldn’t be much longer now,” Booker said, as much to reassure Nicky as Andy. He was still holding Nicky’s hand and with Andy stroking his hair the two points of contact were keeping Nicky grounded. He felt so tired, but didn’t dare to fall asleep, terrified that the paralysis was permanent. He focused on the returning sensations, the tiny movements that he could do, willing his healing along.

It was worrying that it was taking so long. The shrapnel was gone – Andy had said that the surgery was a success – he had thought that removing it would get rid of the side effects as well. But what if the damage was already done?

The surgery was fairly substantial. Big wounds take longer to heal. His blood was still poisoned, his body not having had the chance to flush it while it was trying to bring him back from the dead. All very logical reasons for the delay.

But what if his healing was permanently affected? Was this just how long it was going to take now? Injuries and deaths taking hours to revive from? Would he have to go through this every time? (Would he have to put his family, _Joe_ , through this every time?)

“It’s alright, Nicolo,” Andy murmured in Italian – an older dialect, but not the language that he and Joe used. He realised, abruptly, that his chest must have finally loosened, because he was falling into a panic attack and had no way to calm down. Fuck, he still couldn’t move. What if he never could? And this was it? _Hey Joe, I’m alive like I promised but I’m essentially a vegetable—_

“You’re not a vegetable,” Booker said with a huff of laughter. He lifted Nicky’s hand and squeezed it, and on reflex Nicky squeezed back and _oh._

He could move.

He fought to open his eyes that still felt glued shut, blinking a couple of times at the harsh florescent light. He couldn’t make out as far as the ceiling, but Andy and Booker both leaned over him – their blurred outlines coalescing into relieved smiles.

“There you are,” Andy grinned, leaning down to press their foreheads together. “I really thought that I had lost you this time. You need to stop doing this to my heart, I’m getting too old for this shit.”

“Sorry,” Nicky slurred with an uncooperative mouth, feeling guilty even as Andy meant it as a joke.

“Do you think you can sit up?” Booker asked.

“Maybe,” Nicky shrugged. He felt weaker than a new-born kitten, but with Booker and Andy both helping him he managed to get upright. He looked down at his chest, wincing at the long surgical scar to match the old bullet wounds.

Booker followed his gaze. “We removed the stitches when you finally started healing. It might fade.”

Nicky nodded, but he suspected that it was going to be another scar for the collection. Hopefully the last reminder he would have of everything that he had put his family through the past year and a half.

Andy found his t-shirt and hoodie, helping him shove his jelly arms through the sleeves and letting him lean against her when he slumped with exhaustion. She held him close and pressed a kiss to temple. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

* * *

The clock. The door. His rings.

The clock. One more minute passed.

The door. No movement, no one approaching.

His rings. Warm, still there. Nicky.

“Joe?” Nile asked tentatively, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder. Joe made every effort not to flinch, but didn’t succeed if the small sigh was anything to go by. She tried again, taking the seat next to him on the sofa. “They’ll be back soon. You heard Andy, the surgery was a success.”

_Then why did it take so long?_

He didn’t know who Andy was trying to fool. He could hear it in her voice over the phone, the scratchy hoarseness he was too familiar with from the years following Quynh’s disappearance. She had lost hope. Something had changed since – she wouldn’t outright lie to him and say that they were _all_ coming back if they weren’t – but something had happened that had shaken her badly.

And then there was the length of time. The three of them had left at 11pm, and it was nearly a 3 hour drive to the warehouse. Thirty minutes to prep, a couple of hours maybe for the surgery… they should have been done and coming back by 5am, maybe 6. But it had been 10 when he had spoken to Andy, and they still weren’t ready to leave. So what had taken so long?

It was nearly 2pm now, and still no sign. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast the day before and his sleep had been far from restful. He was full of nervous energy, the not-knowing driving him crazy. He twisted the rings round his fingers hard enough to bruise. _I should have gone with them_.

“Is there a story to them?” Nile asked, nodding at the rings. “I’ve never seen you without them.”

She was trying to distract him, and Joe appreciated it, but he just wanted the door to open so that the torment could be over. But then again, Nile was the poor soul who drew the short straw as his babysitter, the least he could do was indulge her. “Yes,” Joe answered distractedly. “They’re our wedding rings.”

“You wear both of them?”

Joe hummed. “Nicky hates wearing rings. He had his on a chain for a while, but he lost it in Norway in 1612… we’ve had to replace them both a couple of times. He asked me to look after it for him. He told me… he told me that I had his heart already, he could trust me with our rings.”

Nile smiled, hugging Joe close. “He’s gonna be okay, Joe.”

He had to be. There was no other option.

Finally, the sound of muffled footsteps came down the hall outside the apartment, and Joe was instantly on his feet. At the scratch of a key against the lock he flung the door open, not caring about security. And then he froze.

He barely glanced at Andy and Booker beyond the fact that they were holding Nicky up between them. Nicky looked pale and exhausted, his legs seemingly unwilling to cooperate with the act of walking or standing, but his eyes… His eyes were clear and blue and staring right at him with guilt, fear and love. _He’s okay_.

“He’s heavier than he looks,” Andy teased with a smirk, making Joe blink and automatically step back. They part-walked, mainly-staggered into the apartment, making the unanimous decision to drop Nicky on the couch.

They were all tired, and as the relief finally settled, they gravitated towards the living room. Andy and Booker took the two armchairs, the latter helpfully sacrificing his cushions for Nile who took residence on the floor in a nest of blankets. Which just left the couch for Joe.

Nicky seemed to realise this at the same time and tried to get up, but it was clear that he was too drained to do so. He gave Joe an apologetic and apprehensive look, fearing that he wasn’t welcome.

 _Fuck that_ , Joe thought resolutely, taking the seat and leaning back casually. He opened his arm in invitation, and after a few seconds, Nicky settled against his side. With a little manoeuvring, Nicky twisted sideways with his feet up on the couch and his back along the line of Joe’s ribs. With Joe’s arm over his chest and his head pillowed on his shoulder, the tension finally left Nicky’s body.

It was mid-afternoon and the sun was pouring through the windows, but within minutes they were all lightly dosing. That is, until Nile piped up.

“So, Nicky,” she said innocently, though there was nothing innocent about her grin. “I heard you made out with the baker’s son.”

Nicky blinked in confusion for a moment, his brain just as asleep as his body. And then it clicked, and he lightly slapped Joe’s chest with an eyeroll. “Really, Joe?”

Joe smiled to himself, relishing in the feel of Nicky warm and safe against him, his family together and the nightmare finally over. Things felt almost normal, for the first time in so long. “She asked about how we met,” he explained with a shrug to Nicky’s very unimpressed look. “I had to give her some background info.”

“So,” Nile giggled, looking all the world like a teenager at a slumber party. Andy was watching her fondly while Booker was feigning disinterest. “Was he your first kiss? What was his name? Was he hot?”

“Yes, Raphael and… probably not?” Nicky answered in order with a huff of laughter. “Did Joe not tell you about the hygiene and fashion trends of medieval Europe? Besides, I thought I was the only gay in the village, he just filled my two criteria of available and willing.”

Joe couldn’t help himself. “Did I fill those criteria too?”

Nicky snuggled closer, and Joe could feel his smile against his shoulder. “Yes, absolutely. I chose you entirely for your availability and willingness.”

“Now that’s a bare faced lie!” Andy interjected enthusiastically. She jabbed a finger at them both. “If that was the case, why was Joe still pining over you when we found you in the 1150’s, _and_ for another two decades after that?”

Booker raised his eyebrows, still firmly in the belief that Joe and Nicky had always been Joe&Nicky. But then again, there was a lot that Booker didn’t know. Nile looked just as surprised, sitting up in her nest slightly to give them both incredulous looks. “Wow, really? It took you guys that long?”

“There were other factors involved!” Nicky defended with a random hand gesture like the Italian stereotype he claimed he wasn’t ( _I’m_ older _than that stereotype, Joe. – Then why do you fight anyone who suggests pineapple as a pizza topping, my love?)_ making their family crack up. When they all settled again the mood was lighter, all of them together and happy. They would have to get up soon, they had to eat at some point, but for now they napped.

Nicky kept himself curled close, but Joe could feel the sudden tenseness of his body as the others fell asleep. “So, uh, 846 years,” he said quietly. He held Joe’s hand to his chest, gently toying with the rings. “That.. that was a good run.”

Joe shook his head, pressing a kiss to Nicky’s hair. “Don’t be an idiot, _hayati_ ,” he admonished, hugging Nicky tight. “I want another 846 years with you, and however many more that we may be blessed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst, hurt, hurt, suspense, angst, pain - FLUFF 
> 
> Hope you didn't get whiplash!
> 
> Next up: Final Confrontation... Shit hits the fan! (...again)

**Author's Note:**

> Head's up - I shall be posting as I write this one so I doubt I will be able to maintain a regular posting schedule. Please be patient with me!


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